


To What End

by Artisticnincompoop



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Add more as i go, Anal Sex, Canon Divergence - The Sign of Three, Clueless Sherlock, Determinism, Disapproving Family, Drinking, First Time, Flowers, Guns, Hand Jobs, Hate to Love, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Violence, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Multi, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Profanity, Sheriarty - Freeform, Slow Build, Smoking, Space nerds, Texting, Violence, aston martin abuse, clueless moriarty, jim kills people, jim the space and math nerd, jimlock, john and sherlock are bffs, major time line adjustments, non explicit torture, people get blown up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artisticnincompoop/pseuds/Artisticnincompoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Jim solve their hardest puzzle yet, how to deal with falling for each other without yielding themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Serial Killer

**Author's Note:**

> This is un-beta'd. And my first Sheriarty fic so please be considerate. Each chapter title will be the chapter song. I'm working on one other fic and going to school and starting a new job, so chapter updates may be slow, but I promise to keep them long and exciting :) Enjoy!  
> Serial Killer by Lana Del Ray.  
> I'm on tumblr for talking- http://hellahaldir.tumblr.com/

There was something entirely to pleasing about sitting inside a new car on a sunny day, it might've been only him, most likely not. The mixture of new smell with a pleasant not overwhelming warmth seeping into his skin was something Jim couldn't enjoy often. He would not be enjoying it now if it hadn't been for a certain somebody, for a second he considered sending a thank you card but in a way, their own twisted way, what he was about to perform was a thanks in on its own. He sighed realizing that he was already referring to this new hobby of his as an singular “us” within his own mind and wasn't quite sure if he wanted to laugh or hit himself. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts Jim shifted in his expensive leather seat to reach for the control on the stereo. Moving after so long felt nice, Jim wasn’t jumpy but staying still wore on him sometimes. It felt as if his bones had rusted over and as he moved they creaked together. He wasn’t the kind to sit around and do nothing, productivity was a businessman’s best suit. He stopped jabbing at the buttons of the radio when he heard the beginnings to a new song.

Repetition was something Jim utilized and despised. He had a tendency for addiction, making things such as popular music stick in his thoughts more easily. They would change from day to day usually, a few may repeat but Jim was easily distracted by new rhythms to repeat over and over until he learnt each line of the piece. He was more a classical man in that case, a bit harder to remember, and much more fun attempting to recreate. The new hit however was not a song, more so a nuisance, an intriguing one named Sherlock Holmes. The more Jim caught himself going over the name in his head the more he became infuriated with himself. If he was to ever change the song again he would have to do something soon, even if it just meant he'd be singing Mr. Holmes name in a different octave.

Maybe this next one would do the trick... just on time a very displeased middle-aged woman came bursting out a block of apartments shouting, carrying an armful of miscellaneous objects and stumbling into a cab waiting by the curb. A cab that just happened to be there, of course. People really were so easily distracted by their emotions. Jim smiled grabbing his keys from the ignition and popping out his car door just in time with the cab door shutting across the street. An old woman came shouting out a window as the cab began to drive off, and momentarily Jim debated if he should put his suit jacket on again, tad more professional. But the semi long wait in the car warmed him up quite nicely, and there was the fact the woman he was meaning to place a false impression upon was blind. Happily he slammed the car door and jogged across the street. 

 

Pools smelled. Pools always smelled. The one, his pool, was even worse. It left an aftertaste of bad childhood. But it tricked him. Because while the smell, taste, the entire sense of the pool was appetizing with the fond memory of success and closure to a dreadful span of his life, it still left him gagging. Sherlock was similar on all accounts. He was intelligent, someone who could see the world as he saw it, but he liked to behave, mostly. Jim wouldn’t lie to himself saying he hadn't done his research. His new detective could be very naughty. He liked the game they played, it was a game meant only for them...but it couldn't keep up. Or Jim would be out of business. That was no good. But Sherlock knew he liked the challenge compared to dull minds of the rest of the world. Even his somewhat intelligent brother Mycroft wasn’t as fun a distraction, to cold, not enough bite. They were all faces, just blurred empty faces...they all walk in a line within this dark hollow world. One by one they take a step getting closer, closer to the edges of the earth were they fall one after another. He was different, no Sherlock came from nowhere, bursting through the deepest and darkest shadows pushing his way through the line and walking straight up to Jim. Sherlock didn't even need to say a word, his eyes said more than any of those empty faces ever could. He looked past the veil of shadow and blood and saw right through Jim, then he walked away and Jim followed like a magnet. Trying to do anything to keep this fascinating specimens attention on himself, he put on his best show, pulling all the tricks from his hat just impress Sherlock Holmes.

If he could he'd play that game forever. But forever was such a binding word. Sherlock was bad even though he played on the good team. Sherlock was a bad idea for Jim, but Jim loved bad ideas. And that's why Sherlock had to go...later rather than sooner. He couldn’t deny the offer from the woman gave his step an extra bounce as he left the pool. Sherlock was fun, he wanted to keep enjoying the dance, but he had other things in mind with the current offer on the table. Sherlock would just be a device, a very useful decorative device. 

 

Moriarty was dangerous, careless, and insane, a killer, in a sense. Yet to Sherlock he was a breath of fresh air, like the first warm lungful after a long cold winter. Sharp on the lungs at first, almost painful with a lingering warmth that filled him with anticipation. Moriarty was an awakening from the everyday hum of long taxi rides on cramped London streets, or mindless murmurs from shop goers. He spared Sherlock from the doldrums of everyday painful activities like sitting in a quiet room reading a newspaper or watching crap television, he made it better like a spike of adrenaline straight to his pumping heart. Moriarty was indeed one of the best consulting criminals, possibly the best of all time, and Sherlock was his best client. Not literally of course, Sherlock could never higher Moriarty. When he engulfed Sherlock in his schemes or trouble Sherlock felt a sense of euphoria that nothing else had ever given him. He, the Sherlock Holmes was impressed. For he did not receive what he’d been expecting at the pool. If there was to be any shift in the relationship of enemies it had been the moment of true impact. Moriarty was clever and fun about it. His only downfall, to the rest of the world Sherlock would never grudge him for it because he enjoyed this aspect, was that he liked to murder every now and then for money. If only John could understand his point, he felt a strange urge to talk about Moriarty unnervingly frequently, like he was another part of his genius he desired to show off to the world. Sherlock would, he would dance with Moriarty for the entire world to see because when their minds came together it was wondrous. Moriarty wasn’t a simple killer, he was like any other good villain deep down just wanting money, he was simply less squeamish of wiping people out who were ‘in his way’. Moriarty left bewildered, because no matter how much belief in himself Sherlock had, Moriarty made him doubt that, made him feel more human than ever, left him guessing until the very last moment when it might be too late. He wasn’t sure he loved that feeling or was just clinging to a new high until the next drug came along. Either way Sherlock was fascinated and wanted more. More than anything he wanted a worthy competitor to knock off their post only to add another notch to his. Moriarty was challenging his intellect and he had almost won, it made Sherlock want to know more. Mycroft would be furious his poor attempts of tutoring were easily smudged against the masterfully planned murders edging him on to further his mind. 

 

Adler was fun, also a test. Impossible to miss. Moriarty liked poking him with a stick to see what he would do. Sherlock let him because in return he wanted to learn the same things of his new criminal mastermind. To say he was at an advantage because he knew Moriarty wanted to watch him would be a lie, because the only way he could truly watch Moriarty in return would be by asking. Investigating crime scenes that he constructed wasn’t enough. He knew what he did, but a nagging force in the front of his mind wanted to know him. 

“You should take more care in the associates you hire.” – SH 

He typed out the message, his thumb lingering over the send button hesitantly. This might not even be the right number but the message didn’t give too much away so he calmed his heart rate and hit send. Quickly he shoved his phone in his pocket, returning his gaze back out the window of Mycroft’s car. He would be back at baker street soon and since he no longer had a case perhaps he could force himself to sleep. Before his mind could entirely wonder off the subject at hand he felt a slight vibration in his coat pocket. He decided after this case vibrate was more appropriate. He smiled to himself then instantly remembered whose driver occupied the front of the car glancing up to see if he was being watched. He pulled the phone out when he decided he was in the clear and scanned over the text several times before letting his situation sink in.

 

“You win some. You lose some.” –JM 

Fighting off a smile Sherlock debated on his reply. That could be the end of it, just harmless banter, but he had played Moriarty’s game it was his turn. 

“I’m certain you don’t need me to see you’ve been losing quite a lot lately …” –SH

Sherlock felt that spike of adrenaline run through him, normally text message responses were easy to predict but just as with all their other ‘moments’ Sherlock felt that air of unknowing. His snarky attitude seemed to have prompted a faster reply from the criminal seeing how he didn’t even have a chance to place his phone back into his pocket before the buzz in his hand alerted him of a response. 

“Hmm I have, haven’t I? All worth it, buy me a drink and I’ll forgive you.” –JM

Sherlock huffed, nearing a humorous snort, unable to keep the reaction from the driver. He definitely was not expecting that. He looked back at the driver while quietly tapping out a reply. “So sure I won’t poison you? When and where?” –SH

“That would spice up my night. Once big brother drops you off, and tba…See you soon sherly.” –JM

Of course he was keeping tabs on Sherlock’s location. It made Sherlock wonder how often he was amusing the criminal. He set the phone back into his pocket, starting the five minute countdown to baker street. He could change his mind still, rationalize that it was entirely possible that he were to be the one whom was poisoned tonight. He had just cracked the Irene case, which he was certain Moriarty had much invested upon the phone that now lay in the hands of a certain elder brother. Then again Moriarty had succeeded in stopping the fake flight. There was still the phone, Sherlock hadn’t actually looked in it, who knew how many other plans might have been related to something with the criminal. The dangerous trail of thoughts had his blood pumping. Before he had any further time to decide the car pulled directly in front of 221B and Sherlock couldn’t be seen lingering it was out of character to his usual jumping out of his brothers clutches. He sat up sliding out of the car without muttering a word to the driver and stepped onto the pavement before his residence. The sleek silver car drove away silently as he adjusted his coat. He was about to turn towards 221B when a loud rumbling to his right asserted his ears. He turned to see a dark black Aston Martin DBS crawling up the street.It stoped directly in front of where he stood motionless, he had a perfect few of himself reflected upon the window and he quickly swept the confused look off his face.It was not the car that stunned him, but the defiant man who smiled at him from behind a tinted window. 

"Chop chop lock, haven't got all night." Moriarty signed in delight, rolling down his driver window slightly. Sherlock stood there his mind trying to quickly come to a reasonable decision. This idea he could admit to himself had not been his best. Moriarty sat in the car waiting, when Sherlock connected their eyes the criminal quickly looked away and out the front of the car. That was interesting, Sherlock would not have expected Moriarty to find any discomfort in eye contact. The single minute thought made his decision, if not even a minute had passed and Moriarty was giving tendencies away Sherlock would very much like to see what else he could discover. Sherlock sighed moving to get into the car, before he had the opportunity of fully closing the door Moriarty was racing down the street.

"You must be feeling bold. Coming to snatch me away like that." Sherlock wouldn't admit it aloud but he flourished in Moriartys’ spontaneity. 

"Keeping you on your toes dear. I hope you get paid well, well I know you do. I'm an expensive drinker." Jim glanced over to Sherlock to be greeted with those irritating piercing eyes, that he swore he could practically feel stabbing through his brain. "While I do enjoy the thought of seeing Johnny boy or big brother come join us tonight, it'll be a bit of a ride...Staring is impolite darling." Jim didn't like how much Sherlock made him want to speak, he was so quiet and reserved, made him want to toss him out the moving car. If only because Jim were usually the quiet guest at the dinner party. Coy and mysterious, never giving away too much. Sherlock made him feel bare, so he'd do the same, test him, drag him along until his truest, best self was presented to Jim. He wasn’t honestly worried about the iceman tonight, considering he’d be busy with the woman for at least a few hours. 

"Planning on getting drunk? Showing your hand already? Try not to become unmanageable I wouldn't want to be responsible for your new toy." Sherlock added the last thought while running a finger over the dashboard in front of him for effect, still attempting to get a read on the man beside him. Should he call john and his gun now or was he safe to wait a bit longer. In fact he should consider looking through his phone seeing how John was sure to...

"Do you like it? Got it the day you killed the old woman." Jim smiled to himself looking away from the slightly irritated expression on Sherlocks face. “If I remember correctly, which I always do. I wasn’t the involved party that strapped on explosives to a defenseless woman.” Sherlock replied wiping the irritation from his face to glance back out the window. He was still clear minded enough to keep tabs on where they were heading should he need to make an escape. “Besides, I technically won that one. Not my fault you slipped and let her hear your voice.”  
“Those are just the details, why should those matter to the great Sherlock Holmes?” Moriarty sung back almost expectantly.  
“Of course the details matter, even a criminal knows that.” Sherlock glanced over to his driver almost disappointed until he watched Moriarty’s sly smile turn into its usual frown. He felt a twist in his stomach already guessing at the reply he should have seen coming too late.  
“Just how she kept a handgun in her safe, or sold narcotics to her neighbors, overpriced too, tsk tsk. Or how she killed a friends dog for barking too loudly? Mmm you’re right very important. You should be thanking me for removing such a menace to society. “ To Sherlock’s horror he found himself attempting to hold back a laugh, and very poorly attempting on figuring out if the cause was Moriarty’s disappointed face which was likely in reflection of his good deed, or his remark entirely, was unclear. Either way Jim didn’t miss the snort and covering of his mouth and slowly his frown slid back into a tight grin. Being honest with himself, the old woman had likely been an employee of the man next to him, clearly a lower tier but none the less it made sense. It was odd, sitting next to a man a great of a threat that he could imagine and feeling so relaxed. In a matter of minutes his worries had evaporated. He just couldn't help himself when it came to getting another high and the drug Moriarty so willingly offered was appearing to become one he'd like to frequent. The rest of the ride seemed to fly by in a strangely comfortable silence, at least for Sherlock. Observing his driver from mostly the corner of his eye seemed an intriguing distraction from the long ride. 

“Heereee darling.” Moriarty snapped the keys from the ignition while ripping off his seat belt. 

Sherlock just realizing he hadn't put his seatbelt on, hesitantly stepped out of the car. Being in this close proximity with moriarty made him feel reckless. He was being reckless simply accompanying the criminal.  
He followed the man to a bold red door, clearly the entrance of the bar they were, rather he was about to patron. It was part of a worn down shopping plaza lining a quiet street and sherlock had to wonder how Moriarty even found this place. The other held the offending red door open and sherlock instantly understood as he stepped inside. No windows, musty, dull predictable music just barely above a quiet hum, and no more than five other guest scattered about inside. The whole establishment sung boring, predictable, good no distractions. 

"Usual for me." Moriarty announced strutting straight for the bar, sending sherlock a wink, knowing exactly what he was giving away by one simple  
sentence in the presence of the detective who strolled slowly behind him. The bartender nodded looking over to sherlock expectantly. 

"Stair for me." Sherlock glanced to his chauffeur seeing just a hint of surprise behind his dark eyes and inwardly smiled. Cracking a case of Moriarty’s was all fine but if there were more victories to be had that included that look he'd intend to surprise the criminal more often. He sat at the stool next to Moriarty removing his scarf and jacket while having another quick look around the place, second glances couldn't hurt. Nothing too unusual minus one man who sat by himself towards the back of the room fingers tapping on the wood of the bar. 

"Just curios, what would big brother do if he found us here, together?" Jim hummed mostly thinking aloud before taking a sip of his drink and definitely not noticing the sinful stretch of sherlock's shirt across his chest. Jesus couldn't the detective order shirts the proper size. Sherlock cleared his throat and jim's eyes snapped back up, heartbeat escalating slightly until being assured he had simply surprised sherlock with the question while taking his first sip as well, and not maddening over inappropriate shirt sizes.

"Smile and join us of course." Sherlock replied after a moment of hesitance. Jim noticed his eyes flicking to the back of the room for the third time and found himself growing irritated with the distraction from himself.

"What if I don't feel like sharing..." lowering his voice slightly and raising a brow in question jim watched as Sherlock's eyes slowly trailed down. Jim had turned just the slightest in his chair to lightly graze his knee against the detectives, posture giving away nothing to the ever watching bar tender hanging around the corner.

Sherlock kept his eyes on the contact probably far longer than a normal person would if someone was flirting with them, but Moriarty knew his overanalyzing style and his belated response was most likely not being missed. It was just a small touch, that was also very warm and to Sherlock's own surprise…welcomed. But Moriarty was joking, just like he had been about his brother joining them. Not having the want or courage to pull his limb he tore his eyes away to look up at the man beside him. Moriarty’s head was tipped down watching him and for a moment Sherlock saw concern before the criminal turned away moving his leg further from Sherlock's once more. Moriarty took a sip from his drink and Sherlock found himself watching as his throat worked the liquid down. Shaking his head Sherlock turned back to his own drink and slammed the rest down before waving the bartender over to grab them another round. “I don’t know what I’ve done but I’ll have to remember not to keep at it.” Moriarty rolled his eyes to himself glancing over at Sherlock both elbows on the bar while slouching over his now refreshed drink.  
“Keep at what exactly?” Sherlock replied if only to humor the criminal.  
“Making the great Sherlock Holmes so quiet. I’d say it’s a crying shame…normally.” He scrunched up his face shoulders shrugging slightly. Sherlock couldn’t tell honestly if that was meant to be a compliment. He eventually decided to take it as such smiling into his glass before replying only just loud enough so that Moriarty would strain to hear him.  
“I’ll try to do better, if only to please my criminal mastermind.” Even though he didn’t really look like one at the moment. Relaxed slouching at a bar in dark jeans and some stupid sweater vest that probably cost an arm and a leg, and he didn’t really feel like figuring out whose. Normally Moriarty was stone. A conflicting mixture of jagged sharp rocks eloquently sculpted into masterpieces made of cool to the touch marble inlaid with deep ebony eyes, dark and perplexing him of the secrets within. He wore his emotions on his expensive suit sleeves if not for any other reason than to mock Sherlock because even doing so left him completely unreadable. Tonight was different, he enjoyed relaxed Moriarty wearing ordinary clothes and giving little hints away for Sherlock to see.  
“Honey I do think it’s fair to say you can call me Jim at this point .” Now that was a surprise to Sherlock. While the statement was probably earnest, the revealing of his  
name seemed like too much of a slip up even for a slightly intoxicated criminal. The world around them paused for a moment while Sherlock analyzed their situation Moriarty’s dark eyes watching him above a small threatening smile the entire time. 

Jim would never give his name away if it wasn't about to be forgotten. Of course Sherlock already knew it. This was different, he was telling Sherlock to be ready. Sherlock considered exactly how much damage could realistically be done seeing how the criminal was currently downing drink number three. 

"Oh of course...Jim." He replied lowly, daring another glance to the man at the end of the bar. He looked back to Moriarty who was still watching him from under a small smirk nodding his head suggesting agreement. 

"You've got some catching up to do." Jim remarked twirling his empty glass in his hand watching the crystal shine in the dim light of the room before placing it back onto the bar and signaling for another. 

"Well, you've clearly had your fun." Sherlock looked down at his glass starting to feel an extra spin in his axis. He turned slightly in his chair to look at his criminal. Every expression was a story with moriarty and sherlock couldn't deny that he treasured the mannerisms even if they were things that others could easily see. "Do you do it on purpose?" He paused leaning closer to the man next to him who currently was watching him with an almost comical expression of innocence. "Show me everything...yet still somehow manage-" Sherlock raised his hand as if he were to touch Jim's face. Jim didn't want to admit it, and never would even think of it again, but he leaned his face into the palm of the reaching hand. "-To surprise me." The gesture was odd, and if he was being honest with himself Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what his hand had set out to accomplish in the first place. However Jim's unexpected maneuver was pleasant and also helping him 'catch up’. He watched Jim's face twist into its own confusion, his eyes dilate, from the drink or something else he was unsure. Sherlock's hand nearly encompassed the surface of Moriarty’s profile but his hand stayed just delicately on the left expanse fingers softly tracing the warm skin underneath. His thumb began to slide over the beginnings of a moustache that never seemed to come in, and Sherlock couldn't help but let his eyes flicker down to the lips below. It was odd in the sense that the touch was warm, but somehow still felt cold, like he were incorrectly holding his arm up. It was that familiar fun and excitement he usually received from Moriarty's games, with the cold unknowing twist. The familiarity had his stomach knot and he pulled his hand away. 

"All caught up?" Jim deadpanned turning back to a newly refreshed drink, hesitating for a moment. He really couldn't be any more obvious and it made him long to blow his brains out across the bar. Instead he opted to take his drink to head not returning Sherlock's gaze. It had been what he wanted, attention on himself...sherlock in a new light. Alone from Johnny boy so he might gain something, he just seemed to of gained too much. 

"Yes quite. Excuse me for a moment." Sherlock declined the bar tenders question of another refill as he stood from his chair heading towards the back where he assumed the washrooms were. 

He wasn't drunk but he sure was well on the way and jim was drinking him under a table at his pace. He practically ran into the restroom at the back of the room needing desperately a moment to himself, if it was at all possible at this point to clear his racing mind. Elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, general warmth throughout his skin, knotting in stomach, and not to mention all the previously ignored factors. He double checked there was no one else in the room with him before he turned to face the mirror hands clutching at the edge of the sink counter. How could he of let this happen? Of course looking over everything it only made sense it would happen, but to only just realize was of his own fault, he should be more careful with a matter as delicate and dangerous. Moriarty himself had shown him exactly what falling for another person could do to oneself with Adler, and he had passed that test with flying colours, or at least he had thought so. Of course ‘Jim’ had probably laughed watching Sherlock completely miss the point he was making. Sherlock took a deep breath relaxing slightly looking back up to his reflection, there was a more important matter at hand. Someone was about to die, because Jim would never give his name away so openly without intending to make sure no one repeated it. In fact Moriarty was most likely out there now calling up a sniper or strapping C4 to everyone in the bar. But no he didn’t like to get his hands dirty so he must've had an accomplice follow them…

Jim looked into his glass enjoying the drunken buzz that was finally starting to hit him. He resisted watching Sherlock walk to the washroom as he ordered another drink, if he was going to get drunk why not do it right, all or nothing. Thats how things usually worked for him and he enjoyed it that way. He sipped on the new drink his thoughts casually drifting back to Sherlock's hand on his skin he suppressed a shudder entirely disappointed with himself. Sherlock and his beautiful mind was his to play with and of course Sherlock knew he liked to watch him dance but perhaps he had given away too much in their little game tonight. But the fun wasn't over yet. Jim felt himself getting more restless by the second. He knew why he’d wanted to come here, that much couldn’t be argued. But as Sherlock paced around the bathroom like he was imagining him that meant his cards were showing. He never meant Sherlock to fall for the woman, just get distracted. Sure the detective's feelings towards her had helped slightly but still his veins burned under his skin. He never expected anything from his own feelings, even though most of the time they went ignored. When Adler’s ‘death’ had destroyed the detective there had been a periment twist in his gut until the moment Sherlock walked out of his brother’s house, alone. He honestly was uncertain if he was angry or nervous. Sherlock could use this against him now, even if Jim managed to suppress his feelings the taunts would make his job harder. It would be his word against Sherlock...he would just have to ruin Sherlock’s word. He felt his anger rising within himself and he suddenly turned his attention from his glass to the man at the far end of the bar, or rather Sean. He smiled, enjoying the rising heartbeat in his veins as he stood from the bar stool. He grabbed sherlock’s things from the stool next to his, he would be disappointed if he never got to see the famous scarf or trench coat again. Straightening up and casually making his way back to his consulting detective movement similar to a shark as he wrapped sherlock's scarf around his hand and snatched something off a deserted table near the washroom doors. Trust Sherlock to never look upon the glaringly obvious. To Sherlock’s soon to be dismay he was nearing unmanageable, which would be momentarily helpful, but he still trusted himself enough to go through with the plan. He smiled to himself before crashing through the bathroom door.


	2. Let's Kill Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usual updates will not be this fast sorry guys. I just had most of this written out already. But I promise to do my best and I hope you're enjoying so far! And don't worry they'll figure things out...eventually.   
> Chapter song, lets kill tonight, panic at the disco.

Sherlock was not in any way prepared for what happened next. His hands had still been gripping tightly onto the sink in front of him when a very drunk Irishman barged through the bathroom door, muttering something and smiling to absolutely no one in particular especially not Sherlock, as his eyes latched onto the detective he frowned.

“I’ll be back out in a moment.” Sherlock spoke thinking of the only really appropriate succession of words for this moment. Moriarty didn’t seem to even acknowledge the statement as he walked closer to Sherlock with a shimmering fluorescent glow to his eyes. Sherlock stepped back away from the man cornering himself until Moriarty was less than an inch from brushing their chest together. “What are you doing?” Sherlock watched as a single eyebrow rose in response. “You’re drunk, we should leave.” Sherlock continued when Jim remained silent instead placing Sherlock’s coat onto the detective's shoulders slowly tracing the folds before his hands slid back down to his own sides.

“I’m not drunk.” Jim finally replied tilting his head with a wide grin. Sherlock huffed observing the mans flushed cheeks, bloodshot eyes, the slight sway to his stance. The light scruff shading his features, the piercing eyes, the slow measured breaths... 

“No your not.” Sherlock released a breath his eyes betraying himself, staring at Jim’s mouth as his tongue slid across slowly. Sherlock had no idea what Jim was doing, why he would be acting drunk, when Sherlock was the only one in the room. His train of thought was derailed when Jim brought his hands back up to Sherlock’s coat grasping onto the lapels and leaning impossibly closer. Sherlock immediately knew what was going through the other’s head as he lingered in Sherlock's space, watching his mouth counting his slow warm breaths.”You’re reckless.” Sherlock whispered, internally groaning as he felt his own breath bounce off of Moriarty’s lips and back onto his own. 

“Mhm.” Jim replied his eyes at last flicking up to Sherlock’s. Before he had any more time to second guess or debate the positives and negatives Sherlock leaned forward crushing their lips together. Sherlock could feel Jim’s smile against his lips as he wrapped his arms around the other man's back. 

Jim opened their kiss, his tongue sliding along Sherlock’s as he pressed himself closer. It seemed even Sherlock couldn’t resist basic human reactions. Sherlock hummed into his mouth, his hands gripping tighter onto Jim’s back. That wouldn’t do. Jim clutched onto Sherlock's coat lapels tighter, pushing him away slightly before he bit down on Sherlock's lip. As intended Sherlock’s hands flew up to hold onto Jim’s. Jim rolled his hips slightly, their lips still aggressively colliding. Sherlock’s left hand loosened when Jim rolled his hips, a gasp of air cooling the wetness on Jims lips. Sherlock’s eyes opened, confused. Jim had placed something very phallic shaped into his left hand. He looked down to the object as Jim stepped away straightening his shirt.

“Jim?” Sherlock viewed the object closely, not missing the growing smile on his companion’s face. It was a detonator and his thumb was holding down the glowing red button. 

“Be reckless with me.” Jim walked backwards slowly his hand reaching the door handle.

“You haven’t given me a choice otherwise.” Sherlock replied cooly, the severity of the situation dawning on him.

“Moriarty.” Jim replied his features sliding effortlessly back into a blank stare. Sherlock’s eyes widened before he stepped out of the room leaving the detective behind him. If Sherlock wouldn’t play by his rules then their brief familiarity should come to an end. When he walked past the bar he leaned up behind his former acquaintance brushing shoulders as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He took the lid off and let some of the liquid slide down his throat before he looked over to the man tilting the bottle in a silent salute. He walked past the bar nodding to the bartender before he climbed back up the stairs to where his car awaited him. Anger flared in his chest as his mind continued to repeat what had just occurred. Jim had enjoyed himself far too much, the Detective would likely be running his mouth under the sink faucet right about now. Jim flung the car door open violently slumping down into the seat and throwing the bottle of whiskey over to the passenger side. If Sherlock had been able to figure out his feelings then it would do no more harm then already admitted. Although she may not feel like it currently the woman had won. He would make sure to keep an eye on her when she was released, he had plans for her. Plans that could easily be disguised as a poor business transaction rather than his abhorrent jealousy. 

He started the car and raced down the street, getting as far away from Sherlock as possible and as quickly as practicable. In anticipation to the speed of his racing thoughts he turned the radio on, blasting the melody out of the windows, attempting to smother out the world. He opened the bottle next to him and took another swig before tossing it aside again. He was being obnoxious and he knew it. Tomorrow he decided would be different, he could shove this night away along with any lingering feelings towards a man who had no appetite for him. A man who could not understand a desire so urgent and severe. A man who was clearly not interested in his own gender. Jim could turn his mind against him, tell himself Sherlock wasn’t smart enough, that they couldn’t understand each other, that there was no one who could be so desirably similar and contrasting in unison. Before his thought was finished he was crashing into the unfortunate car in front of him. He slammed on the breaks when the car horn sounded. A jolt of pain shot through his neck as his head flung back into the car seat. He threw his hands down violently on the steering wheel while he screamed a stream of curses. The driver of the car in front of him got out of their car seemingly unharmed. They looked pissed, unsurprisingly, until they saw the Aston Martin logo on the front of his car. Jim straightened his jacket before he stepped out of the car, checking his gun was still in his pocket. 

“What the fucking shit are you doing asshole?” The man yelled watching Jim observe the damage, whiskey bottle in hand. “Fucking drunk!” The man continued to shout as he pulled out a cigarette. Jim turned away from the cars starting to walk away and pulling out his phone. “Where do you think your going?” The man started to follow him, his hand reaching for Jim’s shoulder. Jim spun on the spot, gun aimed perfectly still at the unnamed victim. “Shit man! Take it easy!” 

“Piss off.” Jim said taking a moment to himself, staring at the wide eyed man as Jim continued to point the weapon at him. A violent ache stung across Jim’s back and he tilted his head to the side trying to relax his muscles. He wanted to shoot the man shaking in front of him, it would be so easy. Then Sherlock’s hands on him in the bathroom flashed through his mind and he reconsidered. Instead he took another moment to analyze the man, in the detective's style. Single recently, divorced, the mother got the kid. Working a night shift, that he would now be late for, one tattoo, likely the reason he worked nights. Prison time, served, likely under two years, minor offence. Tears...tears, he was crying now. Jim rolled his eyes dropping the gun down to his side as he turned back around pulling his phone back out again. 

“Asshole!” The man yelled once more, taking a drag from his cigarette. Jim paused in his step, rolling his shoulders before he turned around again. Without a second thought he aimed the gun and shot the man’s hand. The cigarette dropped to the ground and rolled towards the cars. The man screamed and clutched at his bleeding hand, no longer watching Jim as he turned a corner. A few more steps and Jim heard the small explosion as he typed out a message. 

“Need extraction asap. Section 3.” -JM People were running past him now to the faint red glow across the buildings a block away. A few moments later and a small unassuming silver car pulled up along the sidewalk, the door swinging open. Jim took another drink of the whiskey and threw it into the alley he had just passed, a loud shattering sound bouncing off the brick walls as he climbed into the car.

“Where to boss?” Sebastian asked, his eyes staring straight ahead on the road.

“East flat.” Jim replied having the mind to put his seatbelt on this time. Sebastian looked like he was going to say more but kept his mouth shut when Jim closed his eyes.

-

Sherlock watched the criminal slowly slip behind the bathroom door, his heart rate racing against his veins. When he managed to snap out of his forward stare, he looked down to the device in his hand. He felt a sharp twinge of murderous rage as he saw the scribbled white markings along the side. 

“xo. -JM” 

Sherlock groaned running his free hard through his curls. He didn’t even have time to think about what had transpired between the two consultants. The first order of business was who to call. He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket, glancing over the three missed calls and numerous text messages from John. Moriarty’s unmarked number flashed among the messages and for a fleeting moment Sherlock considered one other option. He could walk out of here, and just set the bomb off. It would cause him a lot less grief than dealing with his brother was sure to do. Which was a one hundred percent probability. He could hear the voice in his head already. 

“Dear me Sherlock, two mishaps in a row…”

As unpleasant the sound of his brother’s mocking voice in his head was he shook the thought out quickly. He could ignore Mycroft, he wouldn’t be able to ignore murder. He could always find the device and try to disarm it himself, walk home and have some tea before getting to work on his next examination of pencil stab wounds on victims, mechanical vs wood. However that could result in a wide spread panic in the bar if he started ripping apart walls while holding a glowing detonator. Sherlock exhaled slowly, realizing Jim had once again succeed in delightfully confounding him.

Nearly an hour later he sat outside handing over the detonator to a bomb disposal officer as the men inside continued to look for the actual bomb. Lestrade was currently on the phone, the paleness to the skin on his face as he stared Sherlock down across the street was evidence enough to who exactly he was talking to. John was currently standing next to him, yelling about something, most likely wanting to know exactly what was going on since Sherlock hadn't really clarified the situation to anyone except Lestrade. He continued to ignore John for now, thinking on why exactly it was taking the bomb squad so long to find the bomb. Sherlock shot up from where he had been sitting clasping his hands together in sudden understanding. Moriarty could have put the explosives anywhere, so then why did his mind immediately connect it to being here? Lestrade saw his movements and muttered something into his phone before hanging up. 

“What?” He yelled across the street already making his way over. Sherlock looked over to the gaggle of bar goers pointing to the lanky middle aged blond nervously tapping his fingers against his own leg. He looked up when he noticed Sherlock’s gesture, eyes going wide. 

“You.” Sherlock spoke moving closer, John following after him. “Repeating himself again, it’s not in the bar, it’s on him.” Sherlock spoke to his friend over his shoulder.

“Sherlock no!” John yelled noticing a small red dot on the bar man’s chest before Sherlock, who had his eye’s elsewhere. Instantly a overwhelming reverberating roar stung at the insides of their ears. Sherlock could feel the heat from the explosion before he saw it as he jolted backwards, watching the fire slowly spread. Sherlock stepped back a few paces, feeling John’s hand on his arm pulling him away. Lestrade was calling someone on his phone again, the emergency crews that were already there rushing to the fire and the people who had just barely escaped the flames.

Sherlock’s mind was racing, he pushed out the chaos around him trying to think. The sound of the sirens and Lestrade barking orders began to become abrasive so he walked. It was a few blocks before the quiet hum of London was manageable again. He had missed something...again. He replayed the entire night over and over again, omitting one small portion. Sherlock groaned throwing out unnecessary bits left and right until everything was blank. He turned on the spot, he needed to voice this, he needed…

“John?” Sherlock startled, bumping into the shorter man following in his footsteps.

“Oh yes, now he notices me! Sherlock where the hell are you going?” John huffed, arms crossed after looking at his watch. Sherlock smiled turning back around and marking their location before he started to walk again. 

“Baker Street!”

When they reached Baker Street Sherlock hurried up the stairs, John had thankfully stopped his excessive yelling as they entered, being considerate only for Mrs. Hudson.

“Alright Sherlock, you had better start talking now.” John demanded tossing his coat off and sitting in his chair. 

“I went for drinks with Moriarty…” The instant the words had been spoken John held up his index finger signaling for a minute, jaw clenching. Sherlock snapped his mouth shut looking at John in confusion when he stood up. A moment later John walked back into the room with a glass of something that smelled very similar to what Jim had been drinking earlier. Sherlock’s thoughts strayed to the way those lips had tasted with the hint of whiskey... 

“Alright.” John prompted waiting for Sherlock to continue. When Sherlock had nearly finished retelling the night's events his words caught in his throat.

“Then he...he said be reckless with me.” Sherlock muttered still pacing about the room stopping when John broke his silence.

“He kissed you and that's the bit you get caught up on? Sherlock the man tried to blow me up and he kissed you! Who cares if he wants you to be reckless?” John used quotation marks around the last word, sitting upright in his chair now, practically falling off. Sherlock shook his head turning away from John to continue pacing again.

“No, no I kissed him. He’s not interested in me, he is just exploiting my fleeting interest. But that's not the point!” Sherlock began to laugh now flopping down onto his chair. “The detonator john!” John still looked baffled trying to catch up with everything.

“Wait so now you’re into him?” John questioned ignoring the last comment entirely. 

“John.” Sherlock slumped back into his chair staring at his friend with a look of impatience. 

“Right yep, go on then, what did the detonator do? Someone release it maybe?” John attempted to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut, watching Sherlock recollect his posture.

“If they did it wouldn’t matter. It never worked, why else would he leave saying those exact words? The device should have gone off the instant I pressed it, not when I released it!” Sherlock settled back into his chair releasing a slow breath. 

“So he didn’t want you to kill anyone?” John asked tilting his head, still feeling as though he were missing something. 

“No, he didn’t expect me to be reckless.” Sherlock staggered. “He didn’t expect me to do what I wanted to.” Sherlock finished swiftly standing up. 

“What you want...wanted to?” John stood up as well following Sherlock to his bedroom door. “Sherlock wait!” John stepped ahead of Sherlock blocking his door. “Sherlock look, I- whatever this is…” John paused scared to continue. “It isn’t good, if he knows you uh…” 

“Don’t worry John. Again I technically won. If he had thought there was any interest now he won't, or I would have saved that man’s life.” Sherlock stepped forward moving to close the door until John spoke again. 

“So you would have pushed the trigger? Even if you didn’t know?” The doctor asked concern in his eyes. 

“Obviously I didn’t.” Sherlock replied curtly finally getting himself into his bedroom and closing the door. Sherlock walked over to his window, silently thinking. His mind could rationalize why he would fall for Moriarty, the question was how. More importantly how he hadn’t noticed until tonight. He knew this was not going to work out well. There was a chance Jim would think he was actually not interested. From Jim’s perspective it would appear Sherlock had chose to blow a man to bits instead of admitting any feelings. Then again he had initiated the kiss. It would seem Sherlock would have to simply wait again for the criminals next move to detect if there was any threat of his feelings being used to a disadvantage. It was odd, falling for someone, so suddenly and with a person so extreme. Sherlock had, had his moments before this, only enough to count on a single hand. More specifically two. One very recently. This was something else entirely. He wanted to scream, he wanted to lose his temper and tell John to leave him alone as he ripped his hair out. Feelings were trivial, ordinary, they got in the way. He turned away from the window tossing something that was in his hand to the closest wall. He hadn’t even noticed he’d picked it up but the echoing boom against the wall was undeniable. The slim pink phone remained on the floor as he walked to his dresser. 

He spent the next half an hour listening to John pointlessly rummage around the flat for his phone before the knock on the door came. 

“Sherlock you up?” John whispered, opening the door slightly. Sherlock laid still on the bed waiting to hear the sound of the door shut before he pulled John’s phone out from under his sheet. If he was going to call Mycroft he’d have to wait until morning.


	3. You Are The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song, "You are the moon" By The Hush Sound.   
> I hope you are all enjoying :)

“We lost two contacts last night.” Sebastian muttered over the phone call, doing his best to keep his anger down as his boss sighed on the other end. 

“The one I was intending on loosing. The other...can be easily replaced. Cars are an easy business Moran.” Jim could still taste the alcohol from last night in his throat. He wanted to get up and wash it out but Sebastian’s words of discouragement were doing their job. He felt full, like nothing else would ever be satisfying again. He groaned, he hadn’t been this hungover in a while, current events were not a good mixture right now. His world felt like it had caved in on itself last night, accompanied with a hangover he didn’t really feel like getting up and fixing it right away. He hadn’t slept at all, spending most of the night staring at a wall, trying his best to distract his own thoughts. 

“Fine text me our next move.” Sebastian finally replied not waiting for Jim to hang up before him like he usually did. Sebastian had said big brother Holmes was at Baker street now, and Jim couldn’t help but laugh at the pleasant visual of Sherlock being scolded. As confusing as the thought of Sherlock was right now he couldn’t dwell on him at the moment. Last night he had told himself he would push the detective from his thoughts beyond anything but destroying him. So when he managed to get out of bed that was what he would do. 

 

Several hours later he would find that task impossible. He was now sitting in a airplane waiting to land, on his way to discuss some things with a politician from Turkey. Sherlock had been running through his mind all day. It seemed Jim was going to pay if he wanted to play. All he had been thinking about while on the phone with clients today had been Sherlock kissing him.

“The president wants a meeting since you’ll be in town.” One of his associates spoke looking up from her phone. Jim too looked up from his phone to his hired help sitting on the other side of the plane. She was new, useful so far. Jim could usually tell who was a keeper and who had to go. Moran had suggested she go with him while Sebastian was out on another task. 

“Can’t. To busy.” Jim replied looking back down to his phone. Jim heard her sigh before she spoke again. 

“What should I tell him?” Jim looked back up at this, his curiosity peaked.

“Are you currently texting the Turkish president?” Jim asked with a frown watching as the woman’s face contorted confused.

“Seb gave me all the important numbers when he sent me to you. Did you forget you had the presidents cell?” Her lip twisted into a slight smile watching Jim roll his eyes. 

“No, just impressed with your diligence.” Jim paused before he looked back down again at his phone. “I dunno tell him he’s not very important to me at the moment.” She looked concerned for a second but eventually she went back to typing on the phone. Jim was focused in on a message he had yet to send for the past few hours. He allowed himself one fleeting thought of hope thinking back on yesterday. While he had been strongly encouraging it, Sherlock had made the initial move...that didn’t have to mean he was using Jim’s feelings against him. With the thought in his head he hit send and shoved the phone away. He didn’t want this, the twirling in his stomach, the light headed feeling, the hours spent thinking on one man. He felt invaded, he wanted to be singular again. He never risked so much before Sherlock. Sherlock no matter his opinion on Jim had made him reckless. Business had always come first, now it was a second thought. That wasn’t good for someone who wanted to be on top of the world. He needed to discipline himself. He pulled his phone back out looking down to the message screen. 

“Hope big brother wasn’t to mad about our date.”-JM

He wanted to toss the phone off the airplane and deny ever sending it. Sherlock had yet to reply and he hoped beyond anything else the detective never would. 

-

When Sherlock woke up he instantly wanted to go back to sleep. 

“Goodmorning brother mine.” Mycroft sneered from his bedroom door. Mycroft ignored Sherlock's disapproving groan. “Do come and join us when you can.” He added stepping back out of the room and closing the door behind him. Sherlocked pulled his blanket over his head, John’s phone falling onto his face. He considered the object for a moment before he unlocked the device and went through John’s messages. The most recent were from his various girl friends, or attempts at girlfriends. He decided to read some before he went out to the mob. When he was mildly amused he got out of the bed and pulled on his day attire. As promised Mycroft and John stood around the two arm chairs. 

“Morning.” Sherlock greeted walking past both of them and into the kitchen to where Mrs. Hudson stood holding a tray with tea. Sherlock took a cup and turned around to sit at his microscope. 

“Sherlock we have some things that need discussing.” Mycroft started walking over to the desk and mindlessly flipping over papers. 

“Thats one way of putting it.” Sherlock snapped back, his eyes not lifting from the microscope. “Your ongoing fight against the sugar confections of London is simply put, begining to get embarrassing for the entire family.”

“Sherlock really...” John spoke up walking into the kitchen nodding to Mrs. Hudson who left the room after Mycroft slammed his umbrella down harshly onto the desk. 

“That’s perfectly fine Doctor Watson. Sherlock can choose to be childish, you’ll simply have to start searching for a new flatmate.” Mycroft calmed himself moving to sit in John’s usual chair. 

“What-what do you mean?” John asked looking back and forth between Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock was glaring at the back of his brothers head now. 

“I mean I’m not here because of the fiasco at the underground bar. Sherlock any ideas?”  
Mycroft tilted his nose up at the cup of tea that had been offered to him earlier, once again standing up to face his brother.

“Do enlighten us…” Sherlock mumbled looking back into his microscope. John was now frowning, watching Mycroft's every move, hanging onto each action waiting. 

“The Aston Martin my men had to clean up, covered in human jam.” Mycroft fumed not breaking eye contact with Sherlock for a moment. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sherlock answered moving from his microscope to sit on the sofa.

“We found your fingerprints in the passenger side of a Aston Martin DBS last night. Perhaps by some unknown coincidence just a mere seven blocks away from the bar.” Mycroft was turning red as Sherlock began to pluck at the stings on his violin. 

“The universe is ra-”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft yelled, causing even John to startle. John then moved to sit in his chair, hesitantly watching the now silent exchange between brothers. “Tell me, tell me now and I will get rid of everything.” 

“It was Moriarty’s car. We drove there in it. I touched the dash board. I did not get back into the car after the explosion at the bar.” Sherlock responded laying down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Mycroft seemed to be somewhat satisfied by Sherlock’s quick response. “Was it him…”Sherlock asked not daring to look at his brother as the question slipped desperately from his mouth. Mycroft for the first time since last night smiled at this. 

“What were you doing at that bar?” Mycroft countered. Sherlock shot up at that, eyes glaring into his brother’s skull. 

“I think it’s time you left.” Sherlock walked over to Mycroft taking him by the arm and walking them to the door. “So nice seeing you. As always.” John followed after them both to the door, looking like he were to interject. 

“I’ll be watching, Sherlock.” Mycroft took his umbrella from Sherlock before turning to John and giving him a slight nod. When they could hear him closing the front door Sherlock walked over to the window watching him get in the waiting car.

“You should've told him.” John stated walking over to his laptop and turning it on. Sherlock lingered at the window for a while longer, debating between going back to his microscope or picking up his violin. 

“Why? He already knows what happened.” Sherlock replied walking back over to his microscope, handing John his phone on the way. John stared at the phone for a solid minute before he commented. 

“How long have you had this?” John’s voice raised in pitch clutching onto his phone. Sherlock shrugged already starting another test. 

“Since last night.” Sherlock zoned out whatever it was that John said after that. His mind not focusing on the things he wanted it to. Moriarty’s voice echoed in his skull. Last night had caused him more grief than it provided answers. He had to remind himself that, that had been what he had wanted; answers. Instead he had come home with the taste of Irish whiskey on his lips and a confusing headache not caused by the alcohol he had consumed. Mycroft would know now, it seemed almost everyone would soon, about his feelings to the criminal. He berated himself for asking after the drunk driver. Of course it wasn’t him, probably the poor sod who had the odasity to get in the criminal's way. This did nothing to deter him from calling Lestrade a moment later. 

“Sherlock?”

“Lestrade what do you have on a car collision last night involving an Aston Martin and one other car, 7 blocks outside of the bar?”

“What do-Sherlock I have a lot of questions for you!” 

“Yes, yes. Aston Martin, 7 blocks.” 

There was a pause and a sigh from Gregg’s end but Sherlock waited, tapping his fingers on the counter in front of him. 

“Uh, Aston Martin, and a volkswagen. Yeah I got it. Some poor clerk got back ended by the Martin. There was an explosion, not terribly big but it did get the VW driver. Names Camron James. Oh he was a father…”

“And?” Sherlock persisted getting annoyed by the second. 

“And there was one shell found, the Martin driver was nowhere to be found. Plate numbers came back to...oh for christ’s sake someone registered the Martin to the queen.” Sherlock actually snorted at that before making a quick recovery. 

“Anything else?” 

“No. But don’t you dare hang up! Who the hell gave you that bomb last night?” Sherlock rolled his eyes seriously considering his option of just hanging up. But Lestrade had come to his rescue and kept Mycroft away for the most part. 

“Some very drunk, short, middle aged man. No idea, probably a lunatic.” 

“I’d say so...so some guy just walks up to you and hands you a donator? How’d you know it was on the other bloke?”

“Lucky guess.” Sherlock felt his phone buzz against his face with an alert for a text. “I’ve got to go.” Sherlock hung the phone up much to the dismay of Lestrade who had continued to talk until Sherlock hit the end button. Sherlock opened the text message dismissing the increase of his heart rate at seeing Jim’s number. 

“Hope big brother wasn’t to mad about our date.”-JM

Sherlock re-read the message a few times. Time seemed to stop around him as his mind raced through the previous night's events. The idea occurred to him maybe all wasn’t as simple as it seemed. There would be no reason for Jim to text him after Sherlock blew up the bar goer. It would only mean...James, Moriarty, the criminal mastermind had fallen for Sherlock just as Sherlock had for him. He was being checked in on. He was receiving a meaningless text just for a response, just a conversation. Jim wanted a companion, they both did, they simply didn’t know they had until they met each other. Sherlock thought on what it would be like, even being genuinely pleasant to one another. Texting or phone conversations while one plotted to destroy the world and the other followed behind cleaning up the mess. It couldn’t happen, it was impossible, by this point Jim surely understood that. Even the premises of any kind of relationship would be spoiled by the one partner destroying everything the other had worked towards.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice cracked through his thoughts, rupturing any traceable lines of reason. “I said I’m going out for some food with a friend, do you want me to bring anything back?” Sherlock slowly looked over to John without saying a word still trying to process his thoughts. John pursed his lips at the silence. “Right I’ll just get the usual then.” John moved to the door not saying another word. Sherlock refocused, his mind trying to rationalize something anything, any concept of how the worlds possibly best minds could both succumb to their most basic needs. He spent a rather large amount of time trying to decide on a plan of action, anything that could even promote some sort of friendliness. 

Sherlock wasn’t sure how much time had passed but by the time he could rip himself away from his thoughts John was already back and asleep in his room. There was nothing. He had no answers, and yet he still felt a uncalled for desire to talk to the criminal. He wanted to listen to him talk, hear his mind unravel in a neutral setting. He had never wanted something so simplistic of another human being before, and he couldn’t figure out how to do so safely. He pulled his phone back out and looked over the text one more time before he stood and grabbed his coat. 

It was cold outside but Sherlock couldn’t feel a thing as he inhaled his first cigarette. Mycroft would be watching his phone records now and he did not need him listening in on the phone call he was about to make. He found a phone booth easily enough, now the question was if he could actually go through with it. He stepped up to the phone, his hand hesitating before he began to dial the number. Jim had asked him to be reckless, so he would be. Not surprised in the slightest when the call went to voicemail. Jim didn’t answer numbers he didn’t recognize, probably would never answer for a payphone number. 

“Can’t use my phone, if you need to reach me, you already have the number. But I…” Sherlock stuttered, actually stuttered trying to figure out exactly what he had planned on saying. “I uh wanted to say I don’t care how impossible it is. I still want this...Right clearly that's why I’m calling. I was slow, I just didn’t figure it out...at the bar. And I don’t think I should, we should try not to figure this out. If I’m somehow wrong, which I highly doubt, then well, I’ll look forward to you burning the heart out of me.” Sherlock hung the phone up perhaps a bit too violently, a woman walking by jumping at the motion. Sherlock offered her a polite smile but she scurried off none the less. Sherlock began to make his way back to the flat, feeling like he had the sun on his back. He was confused, honestly lost. He understood Moriarty, as well as he could, he knows what his profession is. It should be dissuasive, but the excitement, the thrill he had experienced each time he had encountered Moriarty, or one of his puzzles was a means to understanding one the most enthralling persons he had ever encountered.

-

It was nearly three in the morning when Jim heard his phone going off on the side table. He leisurely stretched his arm to grab the object glancing at the number. The device had been fitted with a number tracker allowing him to see location and phone type for every call, so when he saw the London phone booth displayed in neon letters he sighed. He hadn’t been expecting to actually get sleep, his mind never shutting up long enough. Of course when he least expected it, sleep came. But who ever this arse was calling him apparently thought he didn’t need it. By the time he had finished his internal scolding the call had ended. Roughly two minutes after and precisely when he attempted to close his eyes once more a voice mail set off the phone again. This time he sat up turning on the hotels bedside lamp and unlocking the phone to listen to the curious message. When the voice on the other end started to speak he felt his stomach drop. Sherlock had left him in simple terms, a confession of shared interest. Jim could feel his heartbeat under his skin, and his breath wasn’t coming out like it should. Before he knew what he was doing he dialed another number into his phone. 

“Hello I’d like to reactivate an old phone number.”


	4. Waiting All Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out much more cheesy then I had originally planned haha but don't worry there is angst to come! ;) 
> 
> Chapter song, Rudimental - Waiting All Night ft Ella Eyre  
> "Turkish delight" = Lokum

When Sherlock woke the next morning he was surprised. He had spent the remainder of the night sitting on his bed and staring at a particular pink phone. He had not remembered falling asleep, he had been continuing his efforts at figuring out a solution to his current predicament. These thoughts encouraged him to find the pink phone somewhere among his bed sheets. When he found the device he turned it back on and felt a swell of resigned disappointment. Nothing, perhaps he had spoke to soon. John must have heard him tossing the bed sheets around because soon there was a knock on the door. 

“Sherlock?” John slowly opened the door peering inside to see Sherlock sitting up in his bed staring at the pink phone. “Oh I didn’t think you’d still have that.” John remarked stepping into the room. 

“I should get rid of it, rather pointless now.” Sherlock responded getting up and putting on one of his robes. John watched him for a moment debating something inside his mind. 

“Uh well, there is something here for you.” John reported about to step back out. Sherlock looked up curiously. 

“A new case?” Sherlock questioned making his way to the door. 

“Uh no. A package.” John walked out, Sherlock following in his footsteps. When they rounded the corner to the Kitchen Sherlock’s eyes immediately locked onto a rather large display of flowers in a vase on the counter between all of his science equipment. 

“Oh…”Sherlock halted in his steps looking at the flowers before noticing a card. He walked up to the vase and took the card off, angling it so John couldn’t see it’s contents. There was one single word on the note written in a messy cursive. 

“Reactivated.” 

“What kind of flowers are those?” John asked stepping closer now, not at all masking his curiosity over the display. Sherlock pulled the phone back out of his pocket looking at the small symbol at the top he had not noticed last night. The phone had service again. It appeared Sherlock would have to be the one to call Jim again. 

“Kennedia.” Sherlock took the card and the phone and put them back in his pocket. He wanted to call right now but it would be suspicious so instead he grabbed the newspaper in the living room and began to carelessly flip through the pages. John sat down smiling at Sherlock and pulling out his cell phone. 

“Why would someone send Kenn- whatever?” John’s eyes were darting between Sherlock and his own phone. Sherlock considered John was probably looking for a new case as well. 

“Kennedia, they are used to symbolize intellectual beauty. Most likely a previous client.” Sherlock muttered putting the paper down, defeated. It seemed London was back to being boring in regards to cases. John nodded slowly still looking at his phone. 

“Oh missing dog, the owner is some sort of Duke.” John suggested reading through the brief summary. Sherlock shook his head moving to stand and walking to his violin. 

“Boring.” Sherlock began to play the first thing he could think of. It was if anything a temporary distraction to the keen desire to drop everything and call the criminal mastermind. He flicked through the pages of notes in his head, following the melody effortlessly as his thoughts emptied. Until he began to ponder on what James may be interested in as far as classical music went. He imagined Jim wasn’t picky with his taste in music. But someone with as careful attention to detail as a good criminal need be Sherlock assumed he would be picky when it came to the older pieces. Sherlock was no expert on modern music, there was no necessity to it. But classical provided a never ending stream of nights and days attempting to memorize the complexities of arias and concert pieces. He finished the song and placed the instrument back down turning to see John and Mrs. Hudson watching him. Mrs. Hudson broke out into her usual clap and John smiled. 

“What was that?” John asked over the sound of Mrs. Hudson’s hands smacking together.

“Bach.” Sherlock answered walking to his room deciding to change his clothes. When he came back out John was reading the newspaper. “I’m going to Barts, I’m still waiting on the results from the last stab victim with the mechanical pencil. The wound should have at least doubled in size by now. Want to come?” John looked up considering for a moment then shaking his head. 

“No, I don’t think so. Say hi to Molly for me.” John turned back to the paper as Sherlock turned and walked down the stairs. 

“Who are the flowers from?” Mrs. Hudson asked after Sherlock had left. John looked back over his shoulder to the flowers in question. Sherlock had said a ‘previous client’ but John couldn’t help but feel an uneasy twist in his stomach as he looked at them. 

“A client.” 

-

When Sherlock paid the cabbie he got out and turned down the familiar side street. He closely viewed his options, this would need to be perfect, no room for error. A few he recognized and that made things much easier. He saw one man he had employed previously who had been rather reliable. He was about to make his way over to the man when someone else caught his eye. A young woman, early thirties, relatively clean so her situation was likely recent. A gaggle of older women huddled close by, not recent, experienced. She was armed, a thief, given her situation not a very good one, but still managed to make enough to rent a room every now and then allowing her showers. Most likely a traveler given her small assortment of belongings. Perfect. 

Sherlock made his approach holding out a cigarette, she took it smiling. “Dry this winter.” Sherlock commented hoping she would understand him. Dry meaning a lack of jobs for her. 

“I’ve heard about you, what do you want?” The nameless woman asked taking her lighter out and staring Sherlock dead in the eyes. French accent. Sherlock appreciated her briskness. 

“I need a location of a man, he may have several flats, I need you to tell me the location he goes to alone, no driver, no ‘friends’. “ Sherlock pulled out a spare phone dialing his cell number into it. “The name is James Moriarty, afterwards you are not to discuss this with anyone.” The woman nodded taking the phone he handed her. He gave her a brief description of James features and was on his way again, it was going to take a great deal of time to find a shop with Stephanotis. 

By the time he had actually managed to find the proper shop it was nearing 5 P.M. and he was thoroughly tired of looking at flowers. He brought the assortment up to cashier and handed the man his money. 

“Madagascar Jasmine, Planning a wedding?” The man asked handing over the change. Sherlock feigned his best laugh before walking out of the building and looking at his phone. His French spy had found the location and by the sound of the address it looked correct. He quickly texted her back and headed towards Barts. 

-

Jim was energized, his nerves were standing at attention, awaiting some sort of action to spawn a reaction. His mind was rushing on a high that felt strangely similar to his reactions after a successful business transaction. For as much as they both built themselves up they had each been an idiot. He’d been re analyzing everything that had happened in that damned bathroom and it all made sense. Sherlock had equally felt Jim were to use his interest against him, just as Jim had thought about Sherlock. He apparently still felt somewhat uncertain, not much but enough to mention their previous words. “I’ll burn the heart out of you…” Jim knew there was to be an expected amount of distrust no matter what was said. But for now he was fine not trying to figure it out. Instead they could figure out the world around their own problems. Sherlock would have gotten his gift by now, and the phone had been reactivated. He was mildly surprised Sherlock still had the pink phone in his possession, but if that was to be their means of contact he felt no qualms. His jet had just landed and he was back in London, Moran had set up a meeting with another Client but he needed to stop by his flat before hand to get a change of clothes. He was feeling inspired, he had spent most of the trip writing out a large portion of his next maths book. It made him madden over with thoughts of Sherlock, wondering how Sherlock's prowess would compete with his in mathematics. He could just call and find out, but he wanted to wait. One more test just to be sure, if Sherlock called he could give into this, if not he could still just as easily walk away. 

 

The meeting had been utterly tedious, he would swear to his dying breath the world lost intelligence every passing second. He couldn’t openly complain, the morally opposed public’s lack of intelligence was how he made money. But this felt even more simple a solution then anything he had ever coordinated before. He spent the entire drive back to his flat thinking of ways to make it purposely more difficult just to piss his clients off a bit and get more money, they wouldn’t be smart enough to figure out the extra unnecessary bits. Jim pulled up to his flat and was straightaway on edge. There was a box outside the door. His paranoia immediately flaring up and telling him to turn around. He hadn’t ordered anything to this flat, hadn’t sent anything out, no one, absolutely no one had this address. He parked the car and sat motionless staring at the box in question for an inappropriate amount of time. If someone was going to track him down and send some sort of bomb most likely, to his personal flat he wanted to know who. He got out of the car and walked up the steps, practically dancing around the box and examining it closely. It was some sort of medical equipment container from Bart’s Hospital...Sherlock. Without another thought he bent down and snatched the package up before he went inside.

He tossed the car keys on the entry way table before moving into the kitchen area and placing the box atop the counter and searching around for a box opener. When he found it the box was open in under a millisecond. He pulled the vase of flowers out, a pleasant aroma filling his nostrils. They were Stephanotis, more commonly referred to as Madagascar Jasmine. Like it’s two names, there were also two meanings. One, meant something very serious and frankly laughable, which was marriage. The second however was currently more dreadful, come to me. Sherlock wanted to see him. Jim wouldn’t deny he too longed to see the detective, what he couldn’t admit was that he felt shamefully nervous. He knew exactly where Sherlock was, that was made abundantly clear with the box from Bart’s. Sherlock should have known Jim wouldn’t step back in the hospital while Molly was on her shift, which she was, given it was 9 P.M.. He managed to convince himself that calling would be sufficient enough for now. He poured himself a glass of single malt whiskey before he moved to sit on the enormous couch in the living room. He took a slightly larger sip of the beverage then he had planned to and hit the dial button on his phone. Half a ring went off before there was an answer. 

“I know Molly, I can’t help that the reaction spilled over! Don’t you understand this is groundbreaking why are you worried about the fairly small stain on the floor?-Don’t hang up, just a minute.” Jim’s stomach fluttered annoyingly at hearing Sherlock’s dis tempered voice, it felt like it had been forever since he had heard the baritone. Jim snickered hearing the high pitched yelling after Sherlock had said his piece, he couldn’t exactly make out what she was saying but it sounded like she was winning. “Yes fine, of course I will, now if you don’t mind I’m not finished yet.” There was a moment of silence then Jim heard the sound of a door slamming shut. “Bad timing. I assume you got my message?” Jim smiled, he couldn’t help it before he replied. 

“I did, I did. Didn’t think it would be a good move to actually come and see you though, sounds as if I was right.” Jim dragged out the last word feeling hopelessly happy. 

“I expected as much. Did you have a nice flight? I heard Turkey is wonderful this time of year.” 

Jim actually laughed and Sherlock wanted to scold himself for letting the sound fill him with a gentle warmth, but then he remembered that this was okay. They had agreed to let this sort of banter to happen, unchecked feelings and all. Jim considered his reply, it was obvious now, Sherlock had probably employed another gypsy to follow him from the airport to the flat earlier. 

“The answers no Sherlock, I didn’t bring back any Lokum. If you wanted some next time you’ll just have to join me.” Sherlock replied quickly his own smile adjusting the sound of his voice, only resulting in a wider smile from Jim. 

“I’ll pass, my brother however I’m sure would be delighted.” They both laughed like children for far too long before Jim changed the subject. 

“What are you working on?” 

“An apparent suicide. The woman stabbed herself with a mechanical pencil but the reaction on her skin was absurdly transparent to some sort of poisoning. She was murdered.” Jim continued to listen as Sherlock listed off the test he had gone through comparing the chemicals until he got the same result as the victim.

“Sounds predictable.” Jim mused thinking of things that would much better warrant the detective's attentions.

“Not every criminal in London was boring before I met you.” Sherlock replied a hint of playfulness to his voice.

“Yes, but you have to admit they’ve dulled in comparison.” Jim’s voice lowered, taking another sip of his drink his accent coming out heavily. It took Sherlock a moment to reply, debating if he really wanted to voice his opinion. 

“Exceptionally.” Jim heavily placed the crystal cup down, his heart hammering in his chest. Sherlock’s own heart beat stammered as well waiting for the silent man on the other end to reply to his blatant flirting. 

“Come over.” Jim practically whispered into the phone doing his best to listen to Sherlock’s breathing, feeling satisfied when he heard the pause in the breaths.

“I need to call Lestrade and tell him the killer is currently walking free...I’ll be over after.” Sherlock hung up and Jim sat there with the phone still up to his ear. He wanted to scream. He was suddenly irrationally uncomfortable in his own skin. Sherlock had never seen him like this, at home, no yelling or plotting, no ulterior motives. For the most part at least regarding the last. Everything Sherlock would see now would be himself, if there were to be any mental walls built they had to be put up now. Sherlock would notice, Jim knew he would. The best he could do for now was distract himself, don’t think, just do. So he got off the couch putting his cup down in the kitchen sink and began to clean an already clean flat. It took him less than five minutes before he was satisfied. So he moved to the desk in the corner of the living room and began to work on his book once more. It was distracting, perhaps too distracting when after what felt like another five minutes he heard the buzz from his phone on the other side of the room. He stood up trying to ignore the fact that his hand was shaking as he read the message. Turns out his estimate had been near right, it had only been ten minutes, fifteen since Sherlock had hung up. 

“I’m outside.” -SH

Jim mused he’d have to get accustomed to his unsteady heartbeat. He slowly walked over to the entry and opened the door. For a moment he was static, Sherlock had just climbed the last step and stood looking at Jim, roughly two feet away. 

“Come in.” Jim offered stepping aside and gesturing inside. Sherlock walked past without looking at him, shedding his coat and scarf to place on the rack. Jim walked past him and into the living room, watching as Sherlock slowly followed behind. 

“Unsurprisingly monotonous.” Sherlock commented sitting down on the part of the couch nearest the fireplace that was currently roaring with golden light. Jim noted how it tinged the detective's hair color a slight reddish brown. Jim walked into the kitchen happy for once for the openness into the living room. 

“I hope you’re referring to the decor.” Jim sung back looking over his various drinks. 

“Fishing for compliments Jim?” Sherlock rose a brow watching Jim very meticulously focus on the drinks he was pouring them. 

“From you, always.” Jim finally looked up at him and they were both caught for a moment staring at the other. Jim looked back down and Sherlock forced himself to look away. There was something exceptionally pleasant about watching the criminal move around in his flat. No shoes, loose sweatpants, and a slightly to small T shirt. Sherlock had to admit this was getting very awkward very fast. It seemed neither him or James could carry out a proper sentence in between flirting in a private setting. When James walked back to him and handed him the drink, Sherlock noticed a slight shake in his hands. He looked up to Jim when he noticed and instantly Jim looked away and over to the desk in the corner of the room facing the large windows. Another instance of the criminals distaste for eye contact. Sherlock thought then as he took the glass, more than slightly pleased to see the exact drink he had ordered at the bar, he had come here not to intimidate or be intimidated. They appreciated each other’s intelligence and they were in Jim’s element now. Sherlock looked back over to the desk. Jim was now just standing in the middle of the room quietly, and drinking his beverage far too quickly. 

“What were you working on?” Sherlock repeated the other man’s words from earlier, glancing over to the desk. Jim’s face contorted with an expression of surprise. 

“Oh! Yes I write quite a bit on mathematics, and every now and again I have a go with astronomy. I’m almost done with my next book.” Jim answered spinning around on the spot and nervously running a hand through his hair as he looked between the desk and Sherlock. Sherlock hummed debating if he should ask or let it go. 

“Don’t mind me.” He decided gesturing over to the desk. “I’d like to look over the maths book if you’d allow me.” Sherlock continued, relaxing into the back of the sofa and holding out his hand. Jim smiled at that and Sherlock couldn’t help but to slant his lip upwards in response. Jim grabbed a pile of papers from the desk and handed it over to Sherlock who immediately started flipping through the pages. When Jim had asked one of his previous collegiate colleagues to look over his work they had barely gotten through the first page before giving up. When Sherlock silently continued Jim moved back over to the desk choosing to get to work on his astronomy project. Jim was mildly more comfortable, his back was to Sherlock. No matter how much he wanted to look at the man it was easier this way to actually work. Every now and then he would hear Sherlock approvingly hum reading the unfinished math book, and it sent a chill down his spine. After a period of time when Sherlock had remained silent Jim had completely emerged himself to the work in front of him. 

Sherlock finished reading through the papers in under an hour and was highly impressed, math had not been per say his area of expertise but he knew his fair share. More than say the average Londoner, considering his mother had successfully taught him all she knew. He would never admit it aloud but the criminal had managed to stump him on a few equations, he had however eventually worked through each one. He put the pages neatly back in order and looked up to the silent man sitting at the desk. James was hunched over, elbows and all working vigorously on what looked to be some kind of essay on the biological makeup of a planet. Sherlock kept it in mind never to discuss his failures in the solar system to the man, but he could enjoy the tireless effort Jim was displaying now. Sherlock’s eyes began to wonder the expanse of Jim’s back. His spine was slightly protruding and the muscles were well defined for a man of such small stature. James hair was a mess atop his head and Sherlock was soon given the reason as to why when the criminal ran his fingers slowly through the strands starting at the front and ending on the back of his neck. Sherlock swallowed watching the motion, his fingers getting an odd tingle to them as he unconsciously imagined his own hands repeating the action. In the bathroom at the bar his hands had grazed the dark slicked back hair and the memory made it that much harder to resist the temptation now. 

Jim was nearly finished with the essay he had been working on when a voice very close behind him spoke. 

“Are you doing this from memory?” Sherlock was nearly leaning on him as he peered over his shoulder. 

“Yes.” Jim replied not breaking his focus on the paper in front of him. Sherlock remained quiet behind him so Jim continued. “You’ve built your intelligence on necessity and it’s transformed into a distraction. I built my knowledge on distraction and vis versa morphed it to fit my needs.” Jim spoke softly just a hint of his Irish accent coming through the softly spoken words. 

“My brother encouraged me to be smarter, knowingly or not, it was a competition to always be better. Then I became a private detective to distract myself from other...interest.” Sherlock agreed, James nodded his head along with the statement. 

“Undeniably.” Jim put the pencil down turning in his seat to face Sherlock. Sherlock was looking at the work he had been doing. Sherlock handed him back the math papers before he spoke again. 

“But you, you grew up in a uncomfortable, or undesirable situation…” When Jim didn’t interject Sherlock continued. “A distraction from everyday life, like star charting would be more than intellectually beneficial. Then when you expanded your range of interest you discovered your knack for distruction, distraction becoming necessity.” Jim stood from the chair tilting his head up to watch Sherlock’s eyes scan him over as he spoke. 

“Just so…” He smiled, teeth bared feeling slightly exposed while Sherlock stepped closer. Sherlock lifted a hand to the back of his head, his finger’s straightening the mess Jim had worked the strands into. Jim watched Sherlock’s lips closely as he started to speak once more, Jim’s hands coming to rest on Sherlock’s hips pulling them closer together. 

“I wouldn’t suggest the world be much different should our situations be reversed.” Sherlock looked down to Jim’s hands on his waist. Jim’s skin was very pale, more so than his. He wanted to run his hands over the cold skin, now dirtied by graphite markings along his fingers and wrist. Sherlock had to admit to himself watching the man work and reading his previous work had been very stimulating, something he was not exactly use to. Sherlock looked back up into Jim’s dark eyes, from the contrast between pupil and the dark brown he could see it was obvious Jim was feeling similar. Hesitantly Sherlock wrapped his free hand around Jim’s waist pulling them together. Jim leaned forward bringing their lips impossibly close, both relaxing in the feeling of the other’s slow uneven breaths. 

“Tell me Sherlock would the reversal lead us here?” Jim asked their lips just faintly touching on Jim’s last word. Sherlock’s eyes closed at the brief contact reopening them to answer and watch Jim’s reaction. 

“As pointless it is to ask what if questions, it is just as pointless to consider any other outcome for our interest in each other.” Sherlock at last acted on his desire to lean forward, savoring each second as their lips gently slid together. He stored every taste, each movement and reaction from Jim. It was slow and considerate, calculating. Sherlock delicately sucked Jim’s bottom lip into his mouth and lost all careful thought when Jim moaned. Jim’s hands gripped tighter to Sherlock’s hips pushing them backwards until they hit the couch. Jim placed a foot behind Sherlock’s ankle making the detective fall backward into the couch so Jim could sit on top of him. He placed each knee on either side of Sherlock’s hips hurriedly reconnecting their lips. Sherlock had enclosed Jim with his arms again and it was sending Jim on a frenzy. He wanted to explore, touch, map. But he also wanted to keep controlled. The way Sherlock was kissing him back with such enthusiasm told him that he would need to be the one to keep things at a steady pace. He pulled back attempting to talk between labored breaths.

“Tell me more about the pencils.”


	5. Trade Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one! There is sexual content in this one so watch out maybe you accidentally wandered onto this explicit fic?Last chance to turn around. There are a lot of important bits in this chapter too (beside the smut) Jim is starting to feel very off about not being singular any More, and Sherlock is starting to see via John that what he is doing is bad, Jim's a bad guy no matter how much we love him :) 
> 
> Chapter song, Trade Mistakes by Panic at the Disco  
> William James is discussed and I'll go over him in the end notes, now enjoy!  
> Tumblr- http://hellahaldir.tumblr.com/

“Jame’s I don’t want to talk about the pencils.” Sherlock groaned leaning forward and capturing Jim’s mouth again. Jim kept quiet after that and Sherlock hummed satisfied as he continued to kiss the man in his lap. It was strange, in a pleasant way. Sherlock had not done much kissing as anyone could assume, and he wouldn’t say he was even inclined to. But ever since their first kiss in that bathroom he had been thinking on it far more than usual. So when Jim had tried to stop him he put that thought out quickly. Sherlock had never been inclined to be physical with anyone unless they had actively pursued him. Jim however felt different to Sherlock, there was the obvious attraction to the criminal’s genius, but Sherlock had not anticipated his current physical urges. He could admit Jim was attractive, his eyes most prominently stood out in Sherlock's mind as he considered the pleasing physical aspects of the man thoroughly kissing him in his lap. They were grown men, most of the time, they knew what they were doing, mostly. Sherlock groaned again this time trying to silence himself as his mind kept trying to intercede with thoughts on how he or Jim were in fact not aware as to what they were doing. Sherlock knew there were certain things he simply was not prepared for but his mind was quickly pushing other ideas at him. Instead of listening to his better reason he pulled Jim off of his lap and laid over him on the couch. Jim was pliable in his hands, making room for Sherlock between his legs as Sherlock lay over him. The moment Sherlock collapsed into Jim’s open arms and their bodies connected Sherlock regretted his actions. Jim was hard, Sherlock was as well but that meant Jim could equally feel his excitement.

“Fuck, Sherlock…” Jim gasped pressing their mouths together and rolling his hips upwards. Sherlock went rigid at the movement, his eyes closing tightly as he pressed his lips harder against Jim’s attempting to muffle a moan. “Ohhh someone liked that.” Jim teased repeating the action again. Sherlock dragged his lips across Jim’s face until he reached the criminal’s neck and bit down. Sherlock was a bit unclear on what happened next, because he wasn’t entirely sure it was physically possible, but Jim was on top of him now. Jim had Sherlock’s hands pinned over his head and for lack of a better phrase was attacking his neck. Sherlock was dazed, his mind felt silent not unlike being on a high, simply following the motions his body reacted to. Jim released one of his hands and began to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock used his now free hand to trail down Jim’s chest. His fingers felt skin between the edge of the shirt and Jim’s sweat pants. 

Jim started to suck on Sherlock’s neck, planning on leaving a very prominent hickey. Sherlock’s hand on his hip gripped tighter at feeling the suction. Jim had managed to undo all of the, honestly, excessive buttons on Sherlock’s shirt. Jim gave up Sherlock’s other hand in favor of getting both of his own hands on Sherlock’s exposed chest. Sherlock placed both hands on Jim’s waist now, making Jim’s hips roll down to meet his in synchronized thrusts. Jim’s head was light as his hands explored Sherlock’s chest, feeling the movement of his hips rolling his muscles, and the heavy labored breaths expanding his lungs. Jim moved his mouth away from Sherlock’s abused neck to scrape his teeth along the skin down Sherlock’s middle. 

Sherlock audibly moaned feeling the sharpness of Jim’s teeth on his bared chest. He dug his fingers into the skin at Jim’s hips before he collected enough courage to slip his right hand under Jim’s waist band. Sherlock went straight past Jim’s underwear closing his hand in a fist around Jim’s erection. The criminal stilled, his eyes glancing up to connect with Sherlock’s. When Sherlock began to move his hands Jim’s mouth parted, releasing a silent cry. Jim was now moving against Sherlock’s hand his own left hand moving to mirror Sherlock’s attentions. Sherlock’s strokes stopped for just a second when he felt the other man’s hand around his dick. 

A delightful shudder worked through Sherlock’s spine at the friction, his back arched up and Jim had their mouths connected again. Sherlock was practically panting into the kiss, doing his best to focus on the three things currently happening. He wasn’t successful for much longer when he felt a warm creeping sensation in his gut. 

“James…”Sherlock tried, but Jim only responded by moving his hand deliciously faster, and kissing him harder. Sherlock came, the hand not stroking at Jim’s erection being used to cling onto Jim’s back as he gasped against the criminal’s lips. Sherlock was to far gone to notice at first but Jim had responded to watching Sherlock come by practically whining. Jim was still hard in his hand so Sherlock sat up, wrapping Jim’s legs around his waist and keeping his strokes at a steady pace. Both of Jim’s hands were clutching onto Sherlock’s back, his lips moving once more to Sherlock's neck. Jim was nearly bouncing in his lap, his moans echoing in Sherlock’s ear as he drew closer to exaltation. Sherlock was starting to regain his senses, watching the smaller man unravel in his arms was driving him mad. The look of pure bliss on Jim’s face, the unsteady exhale of his breaths, the barely spoken whispers of Sherlock’s name. In that moment Sherlock knew he had become lost to this man. In the very moment after Jim was coming into Sherlock’s hand and biting down on the skin between Sherlock’s neck and shoulder to keep himself from screaming. 

Jim rebounded from his climax quickly, looking down at the state of both of them and releasing a small huff of air. “We’re a mess.” He commented, breath still heavy against Sherlock’s sore neck. 

“Were you expecting anything else?” Sherlock smiled as Jim rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. 

“I wanted to hear more about your pencils.” Jim replied in a serious tone. Sherlock rolled his eyes but continued to smile as Jim lifted his head slightly to see Sherlock’s response. Jim wanted to ask Sherlock to stay the night, or forever, but he knew it was already late. Both his doctor flat mate and brother would hunt them down if Sherlock didn’t go back to Baker street. So he asked anyway. “Will you stay?” It was more of a confirmation, maybe John would be out for the night and no one would find out, but the look on Sherlock’s face said otherwise. 

“I’ve already stayed later than I should have.” Sherlock answered wishing his reply could be different. 

“I could always stage your death for the night.” Jim replied only half joking. He knew it was impossible, so his mind started to refill with math solutions, trying to come up with something to do after Sherlock would surely leave. Sherlock shook his head, leaning forward and lightly connecting their lips. Jim took his time with the kiss, his hand coming up to run through the slightly sweat dampened locks as their mouths pressed against each others. Jim went from being utterly and unashamedly content to entirely dismayed. He didn’t want to let go, he didn’t expect any of this. As much as he had wanted it, and still did, it was crushing him now that he had it. He pulled away, eyes focused on Sherlock’s chest as he thought. Sherlock seemed to be thinking heavily as well since he did not comment on the sudden lack of contact or silence. Jim supposed that was one thing they could enjoy from each other’s company, or more so one more thing on a growing list. Jim knew he was physically attracted to Sherlock, that much could have been easily said before he even had a criminal interest in the detective. But Jim was picky about his sexual partners, and that was exactly what Sherlock had just become. Or in a manner, he couldn’t exactly define his and Sherlock’s relationship, or how their minds would work together. It was exciting, more so than the mental considerations. If they both could show manageable will power the sex would be marvelous. Jim shook his head, he should be thinking about how to detach himself from such a crippling attachment, instead his mind was focused on such baser human acts of coupling. 

“We should clean up, then I need to go.” Sherlock broke the edged silence first, placing both his hands on Jim’s thighs that were currently still straddling his waist. Jim carefully stood back up trying to straighten his clothes before Sherlock too stood. 

“Bathroom’s this way…” Jim spoke leading the way to the guest bathroom down the hall. When he showed Sherlock to the room he made his way over to his own room. He quickly grabbed a change of pants and washed himself off before rejoining Sherlock who was already back in his coat and scarf by the front door. They both stared at each other for a moment unclear of what to say, both feeling overwhelmed and oddly unsatisfied. Jim thought on what to say when his mind flashed through the interview he had earlier that day. 

“Catch you-” Sherlock began to say before Jim interjected. 

“I’ve got something coming up…” Sherlock’s head tilted up, a curious look to his features as he waited for Jim to continue. “It’s not much to me, but I think you’ll enjoy it. Keep your eyes open dearie.” Jim grinned when he saw Sherlock’s lip twitch just the slightest. 

‘I should’ve come to visit you sooner if you’re going to be handing me cases now.” Sherlock stepped back over to Jim, his head tilting down to connect their gaze. 

“Oh no, no, no. I’m not giving you anything. In fact I think I’ll make it harder now.” Jim in turn stepped closer to Sherlock straightening the detective’s scarf. 

“I’ll look forward to it.” Sherlock remarked his heart racing in his chest, already thinking about how exciting Jim’s last case had been. “I’ll look forward to seeing you again as well…” Sherlock finished, averting his eyes at the slightly awkward but true statement. Jim moved past Sherlock opening the door for him, watching as the detective walked down the steps and disappeared into the night.

 

-

 

By the time Sherlock reached Baker street he had come to a sensational epiphany. Jim had unknowingly come up with a solution to their unfortunate infatuation with each other. He walked inside and found John sitting in his chair staring at his laptop. 

“Bit late.” John commented without looking away from his computer. Sherlock removed his scarf and coat walking to the kitchen. 

“Anything to eat?” Sherlock asked opening up the fridge. 

“Uh yeah actually, you never ate the take out I brought back the other night.” John replied smiling and looking over his shoulder to Sherlock who already had the take out box in hand. Sherlock moved over to the chair opposite John and sat to eat. John continued to look at him for a moment happy to see Sherlock actually taking the time to eat. 

“What?” Sherlock asked noticing the stare. John shrugged and looked back to the computer’s screen. 

“Nothing.” John didn’t look back up until Sherlock had finished eating, which had been a surprisingly short amount of time. Normally Sherlock took several hours to eat a actual whole meal. He would get distracted and either finish off the food extremely slow or forget about it entirely. Sherlock stood and threw the container out wordlessly moving to his bedroom door. “Goodnight.” John called after him, hearing the door shut soon after. Just a moment later Sherlock came back out and walked over to where his coat was. John looked up again to see Sherlock shove the pink phone into his trouser pocket. “I thought you’d get rid of that?” John asked, closing his laptop now. 

“I’ve found a use for it after all.” Sherlock replied back shortly, but before he could manage another swift escape John coughed violently. 

“Shi-Sherlock what the hell happened to your neck?” John was sitting, mouth agape staring wide eyed at Sherlock’s bite laden, purple and red neck. Sherlock scrambled his brain for something anything, already scolding himself for forgetting about the marks. 

“Uh, it’s a reaction to the chemical’s I was using.” Sherlock replied quickly, before he started to walk away again. John stood up then, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in anger. 

“Sherlock there are bite marks on your neck. I might not be a scientist but I’m fairly certain that doesn’t happen from chemicals!” Sherlock glared at John putting his index finger up to his mouth trying to communicate to John to lower his voice. John seemed adamant on ignoring this as he continued. “It was him wasn’t it? Did you even go to Bart’s today?” John crossed his arms, a fake smile across his face joined but a curt, tensed laugh. Sherlock rolled his eyes, he didn’t want to do this right now. He wanted to call the man he was currently getting yelled at for. 

“Yes as a matter of fact I did. You can ask Molly yourself. And I’d much prefer you didn’t concern yourself so much on the matters of who I go to spend my private life with, extend a courtesy per se.” Sherlock was getting annoyed as he gestured to John. Sherlock almost lost his nerve seeing John’s eyebrows raise an excessive amount to his response. 

“I’m your friend, if you’re going to go prancing around with a crazy trigger happy criminal mastermind, the least you can do is tell me!” John huffed stuttering the last part when the noise of Sherlock’s pink phone started to go off. 

“Excuse me.” Sherlock turned on the spot pressing the answer button but not speaking into the phone until he had entered his room and closed the door. “You seem to have exceptional skill with timing.” Sherlock spoke into the phone before he laid on his bed. 

“Timing is part of my job.” Jim spoke back, he sounded tired, there was a faint sound of a pencil being tapped in the background. Sherlock assumed he had been trying to work again but was seemingly distracted. Which reminded Sherlock of why he had been inpatient to call the man on the other end. 

“Have I mentioned recently how impeccably intelligent you are?” Sherlock smiled saying the words. 

“Yes, but please, don’t let that stop you.” Jim chimed, the pencil tapping coming to a halt. 

“I told you not to worry about figuring this out...and you did, well technically I did by proxy.” Sherlock continued before Jim could respond, already sensing the incoming question. “The case you have coming up Jim, I imagine it isn’t a client you’re interested in continuing business with?” Sherlock lead on waiting for Jim’s thoughtful reply. 

“Yesss…” Jim dragged the word, quickly catching on. 

“You have clients you don’t like, you need to get rid of the trouble makers, you come to me. I’m not doing anything criminal by helping you this way, and I’m also not getting in your way.” Sherlock was speaking very fast but Jim kept up, humming in agreement. 

“I like you much better after you’ve been satisfied.” Jim teased but continued. “But in all seriousness Sherlock this means you’ll be agreeing to stay away from my actual cases. If you ever intervene with something important...well I won’t be very happy.” Sherlock felt his heart beat spike, he hadn’t heard that tone in Jim’s voice since the pool. That cool relaxed predator stalking from the shadows. 

“You’ll just have to get better at hiding them.” Sherlock answered back while stretching out on the bed. “If my brother or Lestrade finds something serious I’ll be forced to investigate.” 

“You can turn down a case Sherlock.” Jim’s voice was bored now and the pencil tapping had resumed. “But I promise to keep the ones for you interesting…” Sherlock laughed thinking of the last time he tried to turn down a case from Mycroft. 

“Please do so quickly, I’ll have nothing to do tomorrow with the pencil homicide finished. Doctor Watson is also showing signs of withdrawal.” Sherlock asked lowering his voice hearing John’s footsteps still out in the living room.

“Surely he can find other ways to distract himself.” Jim replied, Sherlock could hear the pencil scratching away again on the other end. 

“Yes he can, in fact he is distracting himself by investing his interest to our current relationship.” Sherlock remarked wanting to give his own hands something to do. 

“Ours?” Jim asked his vocals dragging the word along with his accent. 

“Yes, as in you and I. I removed my scarf and he noticed the absurd display you made.” Sherlock while thinking about the marks moved his hand up to the skin, tracing one of the bite indents. 

“I can’t imagine why he’d be mad about you coming home with a few bite marks from me.” Jim laughed while putting Sherlock on speaker. If Sherlock literally wanted a case tomorrow he’d have to start texting contacts now. 

“I think it’s something to do with the semtex.” Sherlock laughed back a bit too loudly. A moment later he heard John’s footsteps going down the stairs and the front door slamming shut. Sherlock was about to leave his room to watch John walk away and possibly pick up his violin. He was slightly worried about his flatmate, he considered John a friend, and he knew his current relationship with Jim was upsetting for obvious reasons but that wouldn’t change the fact that it had happened. Before he could go and do so Jim’s low and even voice cut through all of his logical thoughts with a condemning question.

“Have you ever been with a man before?” Sherlock swallowed, his ears were ringing with the silence flowing from the phone line. 

“I’m with John all the time, he is my flatmate we tend to spend a lot of time together, solving crimes, cluedo, eating, that sort of thing.” Sherlock replied hopelessly, knowing Jim would cut through his naivety straightaway. 

“Sherlock that's not what I meant and you know it.” Jim could already assume Sherlock’s answer at the response Sherlock had chosen but he still wanted to hear it. 

“No, not in regards to actual sex, but I have had some experience.” Sherlock rolled over in the bed muffling his voice against his pillow case. “I’m assuming you have, since you seemed to show a preference towards positioning earlier.” Sherlock remarked trying to remove the spotlight from himself. 

“Not as many as you’d assume.” Jim answered his voice still composed and low. “Sex isn’t just physical, it’s an intellectual experience. Seeing and feeling what a person responds to, what makes them moan, writhe, ache…” Sherlock closed his eyes and he could practically see the criminal’s lips as he spoke the words. “You can tell a lot from a person when you figure out how long it takes them to lose control, to want, need to sustain their desires. Figuring out what sort of lewd gratification they long for more than anything. It’s powerful knowing that you hold such a earnest truth about one person. Everything, shoe size, favourite salad dressing, mother’s maiden name, can be told to anyone, can be seen by anyone…” Sherlock was holding his breath as James's words slowed agonizingly. “ Allowing someone to seeeee the same thing in yourself is risky, dangerous, especially for someone with a job like mine. But to do so with someone with equal or only mildly less intelligence, that's an entirely different experience.” Sherlock rolled back over onto his back staring up at the ceiling. 

“So you’re saying you haven’t slept around because there is a lack of proper intelligent people to join you under the sheets?” Sherlock examined, genuinely intrigued, the sound of Jim’s voice dragging his mind back into the criminal’s living room when their hands had been all over each other’s bodies.

“Yes. Because while I am cataloging their reactions, I’d like my partner to equally note my reactions. Sometime’s sure it’s nice to get lost in ecstasy…” Sherlock was hanging onto every word, ignoring the interested twitch between his thighs as Jim continued. “ But knowing when exactly to pull away, exactly where to bite, or rub, or kiss...watching an intelligent person lose their mind underneath your hands because you know exactly what you’re doing to them, is very satisfying.” Sherlock wasn’t sure when his hand had started to rub at his erection through his pants but he knew Jim could hear the added heaviness to his breath. 

“Tell me then.” Sherlock could practically feel the burst of energy from the other side of the phone at his words. Jim had moved away from his desk, sounded like bed sheets as well. 

“You like to be touched…” Jim began, his breathing was elevated now too. 

“That’s barely groundbreaking…” Sherlock grumbled pausing the action his hand was committing. Jim chuckled through the phone call a slight higher pitched sound than usual. 

“Ohh but its so much more than that, you like to be the one without control despite your domineering attitude to the outside world. You’re bigger than me, and you loved it when I moved you around, climbed on you like you were there for my usage, your submissive. “ Sherlock gasped when he slipped his own hand down his pants, he hadn’t touched himself in some time and now he was aching for the man on the other end of the phone for the second time in one night. 

“Anything else?” Sherlock inquired biting his bottom lip when he heard Jim release a soft moan. 

“Of course, it’s not all about you. More specifically just pertaining to us, you enjoy watching me react to certain things. You enjoy watching me react to touching you, enjoying you, your body, your mind, just you. You want to watch me take what I want from you then you want to hear me scream your name as I do so.” Sherlock shuddered stroking his erection while listening to Jim’s breathing, he was already close. Much like Jim had suggested Sherlock knew his own body, the thought and the previously mentioned words made him want to know the criminal’s body just as well. “I swear to god Sherlock if you don’t start talking or moaning or anything I’ll send an army of snipers over there and watch you try to avoid the bullets.” Jim’s voice was completely lack of it’s once collected tone, the statement itself making Sherlock moan.

“You’d let your snipers see me like this?” Sherlock rumbled into the phone, deciding he’d put Jim on speaker since John was out, so he could bite down on the knuckles of his left hand.

“No, you’re right, I want to keep you to myself now.” Jim replied resolute. That was it for Sherlock. He gasped tilting his head to the side making sure Jim could hear him moaning his name. The response to the detective’s climax was immediate. “Your turn lovely…” Sherlock didn’t give himself a second to catch his breath because it would help his case. 

“You like the sound of my voice obviously, you like it most when I’m making long winded deductions…” Sherlock hesitated listening to the faint sounds of Jim enjoying himself. 

“Mhm, good good.” Jim encouraged waiting for Sherlock to go on. 

“You also like your own size, and it’s comparison to my larger stature, you want to be dominate but you enjoy the idea of me encompassing you. You’re unashamedly a power bottom but you didn’t start out that way…” Sherlock was remembering Jim in his lap vigorously following Sherlock’s movements. 

“You’re side tracking, doesn’t matter how I started.” Jim intervened snapping Sherlock back to the present. 

“You like to hold onto things, my hair for one. But more so you like to be in control of holding off your partner's release. It’s a power trip when they do it to you. And it wasn’t sidetracking...” Sherlock smirked knowing Jim would’ve been close until he distracted the criminal by calling out his interest in the manner of which the criminal had begun his sexual exploits. 

“You clever bastard…”Jim groaned, his voice lowering. 

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” Sherlock whispered. 

Jim dug his free hand into his bed sheets cursing internally at Sherlock’s last words. He was completely right. Sherlock was just what he wanted and Jim equally so for the detective. Jim came, pulling his phone closer to his ear listening to Sherlock softly whisper his name, it was a mantra to help him along and Jim loved it. When the criminal was spent Sherlock sighed slowly into the phone. 

“We are a mess again.” Sherlock took the phone off speaker and chose to walk out to the bathroom. He was suddenly very glad John had gone out for the night. Sherlock could hear Jim’s running water nearly the same moment he turned the sink on in the Baker Street bathroom. 

‘What else did you expect?” Jim mocked back repeating the detective’s earlier words. Sherlock finished cleaning himself off and walked into the living room to grab his violin. 

“When you call? A long winded conversation on William James, and ten different ways you would kill him.” Sherlock smirked hearing Jim huff out a small laugh. 

“I could do better than ten for him.” Jim replied with a half yawn. Sherlock could admit he was feeling slightly more tired than he usually would be without a recent case, but that was expected with their previous activities. 

“Are you going to sleep?” Sherlock asked as he debated on a classical piece to play. 

“Mmm maybe, you know how these things go.” Jim was sitting back at his desk, the pencil tapping once more. 

“Do you mind…” Instead of finishing the sentence Sherlock set the phone back on speaker and played a chord before he waited for a reply. 

“I encourage it.” Jim sung back, he was moving now, papers in hand, to the couch. Sherlock felt oddly satisfied by this movement, thinking perhaps he had managed to relax the criminal. Vivaldi stuck out in Sherlock’s mind as he began to play, Jim pleasantly humming along. Fifteen minutes later Jim’s end of the line had gone silent, Sherlock continued to play for another few verses before he put the violin down and walked back to his bedroom. He laid down on the sheets and listened to the faint sounds of Jim’s flat for another minute before he ended the call and went to sleep himself. 

-

 

“I have an idea.” Mycroft replied, twirling a glass of what John could only imagine was the most expensive scotch the British taxpayers money could buy.

“Just be careful, I don’t want to see Sherlock like Adler all over again, alright?” John leaned forward, truly concerned. “I don’t even know for certain it is him.” Mycroft considered John for a moment, before nodding his head and looking out the window to his side. 

“If it is true, we’d be doing him more good than harm any way that we proceed to separate them.” Mycroft turned to look back at John, who was looking angrier now than we he had shown up. 

“If Sherlock is really happy, and safe, most importantly safe, you have to tell me you’ll find a way to work this out. Please Mycroft?” Mycroft knew there was no chance for Sherlock and James Moriarty to be involved without Sherlock being in danger, but for the sake of Dr. Watson’s concern for his friend Mycroft simply nodded and turned to look back out the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so it is very clear, John and Mycroft are not going to be the bad guys in this fic, both are relatively good people. And I'm not going to adjust their character traits for this fic. Jim is still the bad guy, and will continue to be so, this fic is about Sherlock and Jim trying figure out a way around Jim being the bad guy ;) 
> 
> From Wiki: William James was an American pragmatist philosopher who coined the term "soft determinist" in an influential essay titled The Dilemma of Determinism.[7] He argued against determinism, holding that the important issue is not personal responsibility, but hope. He believed that thorough-going determinism leads either to a bleak pessimism or to a degenerate subjectivism in moral judgment. He proposed the way to escape the dilemma is to allow a role for chance. James was careful to explain that he would rather "debate about objects than words", however. He did not insist in saying that replacing determinism with a model including chance had to mean we had 'free will'


	6. O Valencia!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh there is some very major time line distortion but I think it is still pretty fluent. We are now re entering the cannon verse and stuffs gonna go downhill. Enjoy! 
> 
> Chapter Song, O Valencia! The Decemberists   
> 8Tracks- https://8tracks.com/anon_143972776/passio  
> Tumblr- HellaHaldir

Sherlock was...distressed. It seemed this year would not be easy on the things he was not used to dealing with. Emotion, emotion towards other people it seemed to be the major problem currently. What had felt like fifteen minutes after he had fallen asleep he received a phone call that he had been dreading. The woman couldn’t hide forever. Unlike some might think Sherlock wasn’t blind to his actions and how they resulted. This was mostly his fault, omitting the fact that Irene had gotten herself into this by trying to use the knowledge she held over various people and organizations. But it was because of him that she was defenseless now. That was how he found himself in a rather uncomfortable disguise holding a blade to her neck.

By the time Sherlock had finished helping Adler he was genuinely exhausted. But she was safe, they had made a plan. Now everyone would think her dead. This time, she would stay that way. If she didn’t keep her secret this time, Sherlock warned her he would not help her again. 

“I know.” Was her response, her eyes were trained on him, the rush of people hurriedly walking past them in the airport not swaying her focus even once. Sherlock however had not been entirely focused. It would appear even continents apart James would haunt his thoughts. He knew there was a text waiting for him on the phone he had tucked away in his coat pocket but in the current situation he didn’t feel comfortable reading it. 

“Your flight will take off without you if you don’t leave now.” Sherlock remarked looking up to a clock hanging on a wall behind Irene. Sherlock’s eyes flickered back to Irene when she stepped closer to him, she noticed the slight tense to his stature as she got closer and something seemed to click in her mind. 

“I was wrong again wasn’t I?” She asked, a coy smile spreading her lips. “You don’t love John Watson, not like you love him…” 

“H-how...I don’t know what you’re implying.” Sherlock stammered once again looking away, trying to if anything to seem uninterested. 

“You haven’t stopped talking about him, and John Watson doesn’t text as much as your phone has been going off.” She replied getting even closer now. 

“That doesn’t mean-”

“Goodbye Sherlock Holmes.” She leaned forward pressing a soft but lingering kiss to Sherlock’s cheek. She walked away without another word and Sherlock stared after her. His hand had gone up to the place her lips had been moments ago. He didn’t linger, he had his own flight to catch but something wasn’t sitting right with him as he boarded his plane.

When he did finally get settled he pulled out his phone. It would appear the woman was wrong, and not on the aspect that she had predicted. He had one measly missed call from James and he fervently ignored the way that made him feel to instead look over the various missed calls and text messages from John. Most of which consisted in some derivative of ‘where the hell are you?’ Sherlock opened the most recent message and started a reply. 

“Working, be back soon.”-SH

Sherlock put the phone away and turned it off, ignoring the itching feeling in the back of his mind to text James as well.

When Sherlock got back to Baker street things were relatively quiet. John had been endlessly asking where he had gone, and to the doctor’s credit didn’t seem convinced when Sherlock told him he had been attending a scientific debate in Germany. It seemed even Jim couldn’t work miracles, the so called case he had coming up was yet to be seen. When John left to go on another one of his dates Sherlock moved over to the kitchen to check on the state of the fingernails he had been working with.

-

Jim was feeling slightly wired, as usual after completing a case. Especially a case where he could soon enjoy watching Sherlock unravel it. It was bit odd spending time on something he knew Sherlock would ultimately dismantle, but there was an odd sense of anticipation as well. What if this didn’t work, what if Sherlock came across a case of his where he couldn’t figure it out. Then Sherlock would be encouraging criminal activity and he would probably just go back to trying to take Jim down. He was sitting in his new car, once again staring at the door to his flat, this time there was no package waiting for him. He felt like he might be underestimating the detective by calling him, it would probably give away the fact that the deed had been done, but he very much wanted to talk to the detective none the less. 

Four rings and a generic answering machine message later the criminal was driving away from the flat. Trying to figure out why he was suddenly anxious he considered all the possibilities. He didn’t want to be somewhere Sherlock’s memory was now strongly imprinted on. Perhaps the detective had already been called to the crime scene, he could simply just be busy doing domestic things with his flat mate. One ominus thought hung over him as he drove nearer his second choice in flats. There was always the chance Sherlock Holmes had tricked him, lured him into a false sense of security and played on his bothersome feelings for the detective. It made sense, for Sherlock not to actually be interested in him, only interested in his defeat, but if he thought logically he may just be feeling overly vulnerable. The only other person to get this close to Jim recently had been Moran, and even he hadn’t gotten as close to Jim as Sherlock had done in one night. But then again it may be a good thing that he was going to a different flat if the detective was indeed truly against him. He drove past the second flat considering the possibility that someone may have followed him from the first. 

Jim cringed when his phone buzzed in the passenger seat next to him. When he came to a stop he unlocked the phone seeing the familiar number and text. 

“New information. Permission for call needed.”-SM

Jim debated if he really wanted to take this call. Sebastian had been in a sour mood lately and Jim couldn’t really blame him. Jim considered he would need to give the sniper a good case soon, and not one he was willingly giving away to a detective. 

“Moran.” Jim spoke after the half a ring it took for the sniper to answer his incoming call. 

“Boss, are you driving?” Jim considered the statement as he pressed his foot down on the gas. This couldn’t be good, Moran was only conscious of what Jim was preoccupied with when there was bad news.

“What?” Jim seethed, thinking perhaps it was best if he pulled off to the side of the road for now. 

“I have news on Sherlock Holmes.” Sebastian's voice was low and tired. Jim’s gut twisted hearing the detective’s name, maybe Sherlock had found the case then. 

“Is he interfering with the Carey case?” Jim’s voice evened out again waiting to hear what the detective was up to now. He wondered exactly how long it would take him to solve this one. 

“Uh- No boss, it’s um…”

“Well get on with it Moran!” Jim’s pulse had quickened substantially, his hand gripping onto his phone slightly harder than recommended. 

“He stopped the Irene execution.” Sebastian remained quiet, listening through the excessive profanity from Moriarty that followed his reply.

“Do they know?” Jim eventually asked, slightly out of breath. 

“By they, do you mean the terrorist?” Moran asked hoping beyond all hope he made it out of this alive. 

“Yes of course.” Jim answered back quickly, starting up the car again. 

“No, as far as I can tell it’s just you who knows. Even the Britts are out.” Jim hung up after that. He swiftly pulled into the parking lot for his third choice in flats and pulled his phone out texting an order to Moran. 

“Pictures now.”-JM 

By the time he reached the door to his flat he had three new messages. The last one sending a jolt of anger down his spine. 

“Now, he is on the Carey Case.”-SM

Jim threw his jacket off and paced around the living area trying to determine his next move. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid, he had been stupid, and ordinary, Sherlock had almost fooled him. Without another thought he sent the pictures of Irene Adler getting on a plane very much alive, to Sherlock’s number. He threw the phone against the nearest wall and walked over to the suitcase sitting by the entry. He sifted through the bag's contents pulling out an assortment of math equations and carefully reading them over. The words began to blur, numbers fuzzed into one single marking. It was all the same, everything was always the same, nothing changed. He threw the papers out of his sight and walked back into the living area. He combed his fingers through his hair using every fiber in his body not to pull the strands out. He sat down on the slightly less comfortable couch than his first choice in flats and pulled his laptop into his lap. 

Sherlock could play, he could act, but he would not trick Jim again, and he would not win. Jim would destroy him, tear him down one knock at a time. His hands were shaking by the time he had finished typing the email to photographer. There was a plot building in Jim’s head and the longer his anger sifted against his inflamed vengeful desires the thicker it got. He owed Sherlock Holmes. 

-

“So What are we going to tell Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, leaning over the table towards John. John sat back in his chair baffled. Irene had been their plan to get Sherlock off of Moriarty’s trail. But if she was dead, they couldn’t exactly revive her to distract Sherlock. They could as Mycroft had already suggested just lie to Sherlock. John never answered the question instead choosing to decide when he walked into the kitchen looking at Sherlock at the table. He didn’t want Sherlock to ever have to deal with anything like Irene ever again. John knew Moriarty wouldn’t be the same at all, but falling for another criminal would not result well. And Sherlock falling for a criminal twenty times worse than Irene was an even larger threat. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t want or ask for John’s protection, especially from his own feelings so John decided he’d simply have to do so without being asked, or telling. The best he could hope for was that Sherlock would endlessly seek the deceased woman out and never prevail, never know the pain of her dying again. But by the end of their conversation it was very clear John was as good a liar as Sherlock was as good with human emotion. 

When John walked out he debated telling Mycroft it hadn’t worked. But that would mean his friends brother would only try more alternatives to keep Sherlock away from Moriarty. As much as John despised and feared the criminal, if it meant possibly hurting Sherlock even more, he could hold his tongue. 

\- 

The case Jim had given Sherlock had been absolutely delightful. It was a tad inconvenient that he was now covered in pigs blood, but it had improved his mood greatly. He had gotten the call from Lestrade last night and had been working all night into the morning. John hadn’t seemed very interested after his return to Baker street and Sherlock’s refusal of telling the doctor where he had gone. Their conversation about the woman had been laughable, but Sherlock could at least see John’s attempt at sparing his feelings. So Sherlock went alone. After giving up on his attempts to get a cab he walked to the nearest tube station, right before he was to enter he heard a ring from his coat pocket. He pulled the pink phone from his pocket and saw Jim’s unlisted number before he hit the answer button.

“So how did I do?” Sherlock spoke first smiling to himself, it had taken him less than fourteen hours to solve the case. 

“What took you so long?” Was Jim’s short reply. Sherlock paced a few feet from the station entrance Jim’s tone of voice not sounding it’s usual playfulness. 

“I was under the impression my timing had been impeccable.” Sherlock’s voice lowered thinking on what could be making the criminal upset right now. 

“I finished the case by noon, you didn’t find it until nearly seven. What. Took. You. So. Long?” Jim snapped, slowly separating his repeated words and waiting for Sherlock’s reply. 

“I was at a conference in Germany yesterday morning, so technically considering my arrival time my performance exceeded expectations.” Sherlock replied back sounding equally irritated. Sherlock had to pull the phone away from his ear to be sure, but the criminal had indeed hung up on him before he had even finished the sentence. He shoved the phone back into his pocket ignoring the frightened stares he was receiving from the other commuters entering the station. 

When he got off the train and was nearly back to Baker street he decided it might be good to check his pink phone. Perhaps Jim had just been irritated because he had another crime awaiting for Sherlock to be found, and he was already feeling the itch for another case. When he opened his phone however there was something he had not been expecting. A series of photos of Irene Adler at the airport followed by a single text message.

“Deactivated.” -JM

Sherlock stood motionless on the pavement looking through the photos again and again. Of course Jim had been involved with Irene’s execution, he should be angry. Sherlock cleared the messages and phone logs before removing the data chip and tossing the phone into the nearest bin. Jim had warned him, if he got in the way again whatever transpired between them would be no more. Logically Sherlock felt repulsed. Sherlock had saved Adler because, because she had affected him, she was a smarter than average woman, who had beyond anything given him an interesting case. He considered even if he had known her execution was connected to Jim, still he would’ve saved her. His interest in the criminal had proved to be somewhat crippling to his judgment, as Irene had been, but James...James was above the above average society. Sherlock couldn't think correctly, he didn’t know what to do for the first time in his life. He could run back to Jim, say it was unintentional, and it had been, but he would always repeat his actions. Or he could simply accept that this would never have worked, that they’d been fools. Two equally matched fools who were too distracted by the other’s intelligence to notice the flaw in their plan. People were staring at him now, he reevaluated his current appearance and strode down the street to 221B. If only a damn cab had taken him, he had offered to pay for any cleaning charges, but none took the bait. He walked up the steps into 221 his mind still racing, he needed a case, a distraction. He had made a grave mistake and he needed a new rug to slide it underneath. John stared at him as he entered the room clearly waiting for Sherlock to speak first. 

“That was tedious.”


	7. The Reeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working my way around cannon time line has not been fun and I'm sorry if it's distracting. But hey enjoy ! Also prepare for unimaginable sadness in the next chapter. Also comments would be appreciated guys :) 
> 
> Chapter Song, The Reeling by Passion Pit  
> Tumblr- HellaHaldir

“So what are these for a portfolio or somethin’?” The photographer asked flicking through the pictures they had just finished taking. Jim pulled out his phone after looking over his shoulder to Sebastian, who at the time looked half asleep. 

“Did you use more than one memory card?” Jim replied not lifting his eyes from his phone. The code he needed to write was going to take ages. He sighed internally, the things he did for Sherlock Holmes. That didn’t sound right to him, more so the things he was going to have done to Sherlock Holmes. 

“Nope, just the one.” The infuriating camera man beamed. Jim put the phone back in his pocket walking nearer the photographer and holding out his hand. 

“Mind?” He asked looking at the camera. The Photographer shook his head and shrugged handing Jim the device. “I’m using them to destroy my nemesis Sherlock Holmes, you see he has been rather bothersome lately and I think it’s time he got out of my way and killed himself for my amusement.” Jim’s voice remained steady and detached as he skimmed through the photos. 

“Wh-What you’re joking right?” The man stuttered looking between James and Sebastian, the latter now fully awake. “He’s joking right?” He turned towards Sebastian who stood from the chair he had been using for the past hour. Sebastian pulled his gun from it’s holster hidden on his back and the photographer tripped backwards staring at the two. “I don’t know what you two are plottin’ but I don’t want no trouble!” He yelled walking backwards slowly towards the door.

“Sebastian, before he butchers another sentence please.” Jim ordered turning the camera off and looking at the time on his phone. There was a brief startled cry followed by one muted gun shot, and finally there was silence. “Clean this up and text me when it’s done I need to have a discussion with a bald security guard.”

“Why couldn’t we just buy our own camera?” Sebastian complained putting his gun back in it’s place. Jim didn’t answer him before he walked out of the building and into the car waiting outside for him. It was true they could have easily just bought their own camera, but he wanted everything to be perfect, needed it all to be perfect. He had given Sherlock one chance, and one chance only to tell him the truth. Jim wanted to think the feeling of betrayal was consuming enough to wipe out his previous inclinations for the detective but it wasn’t. It had only made things harder, life was back to the usual roll, the faceless bodies on their way to their ultimate doom. Every day Jim felt like he was now in line for the cliff of death. He felt tired, and bored, Sherlock had given him a reason to look forward to the irritating inevitabilities of life, surrounded by people who didn’t understand him. But now it was back to what he had always known. Killing, money, winning, always winning, there were no more surprises. His life had turned into an endless cycle and the stick that had abruptly halted the nauseating spin was no longer around, and very soon would be dead. Still everyday he thought it didn’t have to happen, but if he wanted to continue it would need to. His pride wouldn’t allow him to let the man who fooled him simply prance off and carry about with his life. Jim tried not to let his mind linger over the stereotypical lover scorned scenario, this wasn’t that, at least he tried to tell himself that. This was business, Sherlock got in his way and he would be burned. 

“Tower of London.” He spoke to his driver as he pulled his phone out once more. Quickly he dialed the number he needed and waited for the answer. 

“I’ve got them.” The female voice on the other end answered. 

“Good, keep them there, I’ll call when I have the package...Be sure they scream loud enough.” Jim ended the call turning back to the code he needed to finish. It took them only a little while longer to get to the tower. They pulled up along the street to a lonely door on the side of the building and Jim looked out the window. Money was a great motivator but pain, pain of loved ones proved to be much a better alternative. The door on the building flung open and three men stumbled out. Two of the men were holding the third who had a black sack over his head. They effortlessly shoved the currently blind man to the car and pushed him into the back seat with their boss. “Drive.” Jim ordered after the car door had been slammed shut. 

-

Sherlock was beginning to suspect his life is just a series of moments between people getting blown up in front of him. He hadn’t heard another peep from the criminal who actively lingered in his thoughts since the day he got the Hound case. There was a creeping sense of apprehension every day that passed without a sign from James. John had at least managed to find them a few good cases to distract his new worrisome thoughts. But it didn’t stop them completely, this was something new, this wasn’t Adler or a experiment from university days. This was one of the most intelligent people he had ever met, and been romantically involved with. His mind was usually a split jury on the proper reaction to his current predicament. He wasn’t accustomed to handling indecision and doubt. Fear seemed to be his usual reaction, not fear particularly in regards to James himself, but fear of his own response to the criminal. The thought had occurred to him that he could simply delete their times together, but if James decided to somehow use their brief coupling against him things could turn catastrophic. And there was a factor that a part of him, that he could not comfortably accept, never wanted to lose those memories but instead wanted more. 

“There’s been an abduction.” John’s voice cut through Sherlock’s thoughts. Sherlock looked up from the television he had been staring blankly at to his friend. “Come on I know you want something to do.” John encouraged, handing Sherlock his computer to look at the email he had been sent. 

“Mildly interesting.” Sherlock commented handing back the laptop once he had read through the email. John took the laptop and watched his flatmate carefully before speaking. 

“How are you?” John asked setting the computer away and leaning forward a bit. Sherlock looked over to John confused. 

“I’m fine.” Sherlock replied squinting his eyes to study the man sitting across from him. 

“It’s just...you’ve been a bit on edge, lately.” John spoke carefully, using the remote to mute the television. Sherlock didn’t reply, choosing instead to look away from the doctor. “Look, I don’t know what's wrong, but just so you know I’m here.” John sat back in his chair somewhat defeated. Sherlock looked back over to him now, confused. 

“Yes I know.” Sherlock spoke slowly his eyes careful on the doctor. 

“No Sherlock, I mean I’m here if you want to talk.” John huffed with a friendly smile and a slight shake of his head. 

“Oh.” Sherlock answered looking back away and down to the phone in his lap. There were a very few precious seconds of silence before John voiced the words Sherlock dreaded. 

“Is it him?” John questioned, his voice soft and cautious. Sherlock debated his answer, he wanted to tell his friend, but he also knew the consequences of doing so.

“Yes.” He decided was a good answer, let John ask his questions. Sherlock was curious just how far John would wonder without Sherlock leading him on. 

“What did he do, well beside the whole bomb situation?” John’s attitude shifted greatly at Sherlock's reply.

“Nothing, it was me.” Sherlock answered quickly swearing in his own mind, that was leading. John’s brow shot up and he leaned forward again. 

“What did you do?” John asked perplexed now. Sherlock heavily edited his next reply so he had no more room for slip ups. 

“Exactly what I should have done.” Sherlock scrolled through the news articles on his phone, doing all he could not to look up at his friend’s concerned gaze. 

“Sherlock do you...do you care for him? Like the uh, the woman?” John’s face had gone a slight shade of red, he too now looking away from his conversation partner. 

“No not in that manner.” Sherlock’s voice lost its enthusiasm. Even John couldn’t miss the sudden drop in mood. 

“But you do care?” John couldn’t ignore Sherlock’s fingers impatiently drumming against his leg as he looked through his phone with his right hand. His eyes were unfocused and there was a strain to his features. “I’m being pushy, I’m sorry. Let's give that Banker’s wife call?” John smiled warmly when Sherlock’s shoulders un tensed and he looked back up at him.

“Brilliant plan Watson.” 

-

Jim was feeling optimistic, all was finally in place, he only needed one more thing. Then everything would be perfect. When he got out of the cab he pulled his phone and dialed his first in command’s number. 

“I’m going dark for a bit, could be up to a month. Make sure everything stays in place and keep posted. If I come back to any slack there will be hell to pay.” Jim walked round the corner and into the crowded square standing in the middle of a group of pedestrians for a few moments before he began to walk off to a more secluded street.

“Alright, boss.” Sebastian answered right before Jim ended the call and threw the phone into oncoming traffic. Five minutes later there was a needle in his arm and he was being shoved into the back of a unassuming silver car. 

The first thing he noticed when he came to were his restraints. They were tight and keeping his hands behind his back. The iceman was there and another moron right behind him. Jim smiled, maintaining the menacing glare in his eyes when the first punch came. This was going to be long, and irritating, but the payoff would be unmeasurable.

-

Jim was sore, and hungry, but beyond all his physical ailments he was repulsed. Elder Holmes had given him exactly what he wanted, without any prompting, but it hadn’t just been beneficial for business. There were moments he had found himself genuinely intrigued to hear of and about the detective. The pitiful interrogation had subsided all his previous doubts. He still harbored feelings for the most interesting man he had ever met. He felt weak, and vulnerable, there was an end coming, and it felt now even more so like it would be his own. He wasn’t even entirely sure how much time had passed, there were some days he could mark as passed with gives and takes, but there had been periods of time with absolutely nothing to mark, and no patience for counting. Jim sauntered into a phone booth making quick work of the wires and dialing a number. 

“Boss, where are you?” Sebastian talked through the phone booth receiver in a rushed tone. 

“Two blocks outside Pentonville.” Jim’s voice was strained but he did his best not to sound so to his sniper. 

“I’ll be right there.” Sebastian replied hanging the phone up, the sound of a car starting echoing through the line before the call ended. Jim leaned heavily onto the first wall he came in contact with. He had technically done this to himself, but if he wanted the information he needed, it was necessary he put up a bit of resistance. When Sebastain’s car pulled up three minutes later Jim practically fell into the vehicle, stretching out onto his back in the back seat.

“Situation update.” Jim barked taking the phone Sebastian handed to him from the front seat.

“Everything's a go. It’s all in place.”


	8. Blue Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is VERY fast paced, and perspective changes quite frequently because most of it is the episode and I didn't want to be boring and repeat a bunch of stuff. If you have any time line questions please feel free to ask if it is unclear. And please just leave a comment anyway :) The next chapter is when this story really kicks off so hold on to your seats!
> 
> And I'll mention I have no beta reader so any mistakes are my own, so I'm sorry :/ Also title change?? Because I thought it'd fit better!
> 
> Chapter song, Blue Lips by Regina Spektor.  
> Tumblr, HellaHaldir

It had been nearly a month. A month since Sherlock had heard from Moriarty. Sherlock had been able to pass most of the time with cases, as well as changing his inner dialog from James back to Moriarty. Usually he did well. The past two days had been exceptionally boring, and he had decided to pass his time with a few cold cases. James-Moriarty remained a constant in his mind. Sherlock had eventually worked out his opinion of the man, dread. Still he could admit his admiration had not dwindled, but it was from his admiration the dread was born. Ja-Moriarty made it clear, if Sherlock put one foot out of place in their arrangement his, Moriarty’s former promise to burn him would stand. Sherlock knew something was coming, had to be, and everyday that passed he knew it would be something greater. With that thought was a sense of excitement as well. But it was slight, and it was cautious. John’s mood had improved greatly, Sherlock couldn’t be anymore obvious that he was no longer talking to the criminal so John caught on fairly quickly. Sherlock was sitting at his microscope going over a few last petri dishes of interest when John complained about his phone going off again. 

“Sherlock, it’s him.” John stated handing Sherlock his phone. Sherlock eyed the phone before he took it from John’s hand and read the message. 

“Come and Play, Tower hill, Jim Moriarty. X.” 

If Sherlock didn’t know better he would’ve said his heart had stopped for several long beats. He reread the text and and stood up to call Lestrade. 

-

Jim considered that this was actually the first time he had been in the back of an actual police car. The two idiots in the front were talking about something, possibly at him, but he paid them no mind. The plan, his plan, was a slow one, but wearing the crown had been a bit of an adrenaline rush. It didn’t appear so on the outside but inside Jim’s skin was crawling ready to take the next step. 

Sebastian came to visit him in the holding cell before the trial and assured James all was ready. 

“I’ve got the jury names. And we found the kid.” Sebastian said through the glass window, keeping his voice low. 

“This line?” Jim asked looking to the phones in both of their hands. 

“It’s been tampered with. Everything is working perfectly.” Sebastian smiled feeling proud. 

“Good, good. After the verdict I’ll expect you here.” Jim answered sitting back in his chair and turning his head to the right. Down the corridor there was a guard standing by pretending to be invested in the wall texture. 

“Alright boss. Uh I wanted to ask you something?” Sebastian’s smile faded and he fidgeted in his own chair. 

“You’re not getting a raise until it’s done. I already pay you better than anyone else can even afford.” Jim rolled his eyes about to hang the phone up. 

“No, no it’s not that. It’s just I’ve been thinking…” 

“Never a good sign.” Jim mocked his eyes now focused on the sniper in front of him. 

“It’s well, have you considered every possibility?” Sebastian was visibly shaken, he didn’t normally question Moriarty’s plans. Most of the time he couldn’t even fully comprehend them, but there had been a thought, a fleeting, nagging thought that he may be in need of a new job soon. 

“Of course I have Moran, what are you implying?” Jim sat forward agitation stirring in his gut.

“Even the chance, I’m not saying it’s a big one or anything but there is the chance, that you...you know…?” The sniper gulped, switching the phone from his right ear to his left. 

“I’ve made every arrangement, and planned for everything. Moran if you question my capabilities again I won't have a problem replacing you, now get out of my sight.” Jim answered angrily, he hung up the phone with a bit of force and snapped his fingers to the guard. Sebastian didn’t move at first, Jim stared at him as the guard came over to adjust his hand cuff. Sebastian hung the phone up but he mouthed one last thing to his boss before he was dragged away. 

‘To what end?’

Jim was escorted back to his holding cell and his restraints were removed fully. Sebastian had every reason to worry. He was Jim’s best paid associate, but above that he had become a symbol of trust to Jim. Jim had saved his life, many years ago. While Jim didn’t see need for any further obligation past the first assignment he had given the sniper, Sebastian had stuck around. Jim called it a good paying job, Sebastian called it an obligation. Jim sat on the uncomfortable bed provided, crossing his legs out in front of him while he thought. None of this mattered, he had a job to do. Sherlock, got in the way, he needed to be removed, no matter Jim’s inclinations for the detective. The world was soon to be boring and predictable again, the endless cycle was nearing, mocking him as he thought of destroying the only thing that could keep the cycle away. Jim closed his eyes in irritation, his hands clenching into fist as his mind silently answered Moran’s question. To whatever end.  
-

It was strange seeing Moriarty after so long. Every time Sherlock looked at the man he had the unfortunate flash of the one night they had spent together. James, Moriarty at least seemed better collected than Sherlock. It was perhaps a bit too late for catching on that he’d need to lie when the lawyer asked how long he had known the criminal. But when he said his part and Jim looked over at him he felt it was worth it. 

“I felt we had a special something.” Sherlock finished, the criminal glancing over to him while chewing on his gum. Sherlock took note of the gum, unsure if he was more interested in the movement of the criminal’s jaw or if the habit said something about the man. Sherlock shook the thought off, he needed to focus. James was planning something and he was directly in the middle of it. 

 

Sherlock watched the dark eyes glide by his cell before he heard the door slamming shut to his left. He still didn’t understand why they had put him in here but things just got immensely more interesting with the criminal in the chamber right beside his. Sherlock paced about the room, an uneasy feeling in his gut before he heard the faintest of taps on the wall between the two cells. Morse code. Sherlock was suddenly thankful for the hour John had spent teaching Sherlock the language. Sherlock pressed his ear to the wall listening to the careful taps. 

“Tea? JM” Sherlock smiled against the wall. He stood up straight and measured the correct height and assumed the criminals location on the wall opposite his.

“Not the best time for tea.”SH Jim cringed away from the wall when the detective harshly tapped out his reply exactly where Jim had been resting his ear. Jim waited until the detective had finished to reply in the same manner. 

“See you soon.” JM Sherlock cursed under his breath as he leaned down to Jim’s height. The criminal had correctly guessed he wouldn’t be standing at his proper height and returned the favor of thundering the tapping words into his ear.

“Sherlock Holmes.” A guard outside his cell door announced staring at the detective with a confused gaze before Sherlock stood back up to his normal height. “You’ve got bail.” The guard continued as he opened the door. Sherlock walked out of the cell not bothering to look into Jim’s cell as he walked past it. 

-

Jim’s eyes didn’t waver an inch as the jury began their announcement of his verdict. It was laughable, how angry the judge had gotten with his suggestion. When they found him not guilty Jim couldn’t hold back his grin.  
-

Sherlock was anxious, he had been pacing around his Baker street flat for the past few hours waiting to hear anything. He fully knew what was going to happen, but still something things needed confirmation. He felt his phone buz in his pocket and pulled it out, answering before he saw John’s contact name. 

“...You know he’ll be coming after you-” Sherlock quickly hung up the phone moving to get the tea started. Sherlock didn’t usually brew tea for anyone, even himself, but Jim, Moriarty had asked politely. Well somewhat politely, Sherlock’s ear was still ringing from the heavy knocks on the cell wall. When he had finished the tea he moved over to his violin, half focusing on the music, and the view outside. It was a few minutes but soon enough their was an unmistakable creak from the stairway.

“Most people knock.” Sherlock stopped playing to turn around and face his intruder. “But you’re not most people I suppose.”

By the end of their conversation Sherlock’s heart rate remained unsteady and fast. Jim walked out and Sherlock sat back down in John’s chair as he observed the carved apple left behind by the criminal. Sherlock wasn’t one for lofty ideas, but there were signs. Signs beyond Jim’s tenacious plot to burn him, which only proved Jim was still interested by him. But there were signs that the criminal still harbored deeper feelings than intellectual intrigue. Sherlock nearly dropped the apple when the door swung back open again. Jim stood there, slightly less composed than he had been a moment ago. His hand braced the door frame to his left for a moment as his eyes gazed pointlessly ahead of him. Sherlock stood back up slowly, watching the man carefully. 

“James…” Sherlock questioned the man's presence as he walked nearer to the criminal. Jim’s head snapped up when Sherlock’s shoes stepped into his field of vision. 

“All’s fair in love and war.” Jim snapped quickly turning to go. Sherlock very nearly leapt forward placing his hand on the criminal’s shoulder. Jim stopped in his steps, tensing slightly. When Jim’s head turned slowly so he could look at Sherlock over his shoulder, Sherlock dropped his hand from the suit. 

“It doesn’t have to be this. Us I mean.” Sherlock whispered, observing the barely visible relax in Jim’s facial muscles. 

“But we both know that's not quite true.” Jim sung back, stepping forward and down the stairs out of Sherlock’s sight.

-

John was growing more concerned for his friend by the hour now. Sherlock’s attitude had gone from respectable and sometimes inconsiderate detective straight back to unimpressed and unconcerned for the emotions of others in a matter of days. The kidnapping case was not an easy one, i terms of Sherlock’s usual quick to the solution responses, but when Sherlock had admired the Mercury coated candy wrappers John really started to wonder. Had Moriarty really gotten to his friend, was the criminal’s intelligence making Sherlock blind to his cruelty?

They had been waiting at the police station for a while after the children were deemed okay to talk with. Being amateurs, or better put not the police, meant they would be the last in line to talk with the amazingly still conscious young girl. John watched Sherlock pace around in the room as Greg and Sally sat and talked with her first. Sherlock constant movement eventually worn John down. 

“Can’t be much longer now.” John commented looking down to his wrist watch. Sherlock only hummed an approving way as a response and John rolled his eyes. “What is he planning Sherlock?” John asked crossing his arms and leaning up against a desk. 

“Maybe he has changed his mind.” Sherlock mumbled looking like the statement was just finishing a train of thought in his own mind. “Maybe he just wants to watch me dance again.” Sherlock continued looking over to John now. 

“You know that's not really a good thing right?” John stated once again looking to his watch. Sherlock didn’t comment this time, looking back out the window. His eyes were distracted by the neighboring buildings flickering lights. John looked over to his friend, noticing the new focused stare. “What is it?” He asked moving to look out the window as well. Sherlock tore his gaze away from the vanished letters and over to John. 

“Nothing.” Right after Sherlock spoke Sally and Greg came out of the room with the child and let them inside. 

-

Jim was having a hard time holding back his laughter when the detective so willingly stepped into the cab and barked out his flat address. It wasn’t long until the video started, Jim chanced a few glance through the mirror as Sherlock watched. Jim didn’t much like hearing his own voice but thrilling feeling he got from watching Sherlock’s reaction was worth it. Jim pulled the cab over calmly and waited until the detective made it round to his window. He smiled, a reaction he hadn’t been planning on when Sherlock’s eyes widened staring at him. 

“No charge.” He sung before pressing on the gas and leaving his passenger behind him. A few minutes passed before his new phone started to ring. 

“What?” He answered seeing Moran’s number. 

“We found him.” The sniper's voice traveled through the call. 

“Good, have him do exactly what I told you.” Jim replied curtly before hanging up and driving into a car lot. If Sherlock thought Jim would forget about the brat that gave the smuggling case away he was kidding himself. Soon Sherlock’s neighborhood would be filled with a constant reminder of Jim’s actions, and presence. When he got the cab into park his civilian phone dinged with a text alert.

“Mind picking up some ground coffee?” 

Jim wanted to gouge his eyes out. Kitty Riley was a hassle and an extreme bore but a necessary device to Jim’s plot. He got out of the car and tossed the keys somewhere behind him thinking of the nearest shop. 

-

Sherlock walked down the quiet street alone. He needed to think. John had gone his own separate way after the Richard Brook incident. Sherlock was slowly making his way to Bart’s as his options floated through his mind. By the time he had reached the hospital and had a brief conversation he had come to a conclusion. He could prepare for some circumstances but he was in no way prepared to handle them all. The phone rang once before he got an answer. 

“Sherlock I was just talking about you.” Mycroft’s snarky and familiar tone thrumped Sherlock’s ear drums. 

“I know it was you. And now you have to help me.” Sherlock’s quick answer was followed by a short laugh from his older brother.

“You set yourself up for this.” Mycroft responded hurriedly, the sound of laptop keys beating in the background of their call. 

“Yes, but I did not anticipate my own blood to divulge my personal life to a criminal mastermind.” Sherlock toyed with the small ball in his hand as he waited for his brothers reply. There was a long winded sigh before the words came. 

“What do you want?” 

-

The gun in Jim’s suit pocket felt heavy. He stepped out onto the roof of the hospital and took a moment to let the sun sink into his skin. A vague memory of a warm parked car and a comfortably fitting suit flashed through his mind. Their first dance, the blind woman. He supposed it was a bit unsettling how comfortable he felt, possibly walking to his death, or Sherlock’s. He went to sit on the edge of the building and sent the detective a text before distracting his thoughts with some music. 

“I’m waiting...JM” 

Sherlock arrived, and they spoke, mostly a disappointing conversation. It didn’t take Sherlock very long to catch the fault in his ploy. He was still disappointed by the detective’s lack of intelligence at the whole ordeal but he had at least figured out one way to stop him. For now. Jim looked the man over, memories of a pleasant night together trying to shatter the idea of his next action to pieces but failing. Sherlock spoke again and Jim decided this would be his confirmation should he need any more convincing.

“I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.” Jim wanted to reach for the man in front of him. He wanted a clearer image and feeling of the detective’s touch in his mind as he considered his next words. 

“No, you’re not...I see you’re not ordinary...You’re me. Thank you Sherlock Holmes.” Jim held out his right hand, the action apparently enough to distract Sherlock from the obvious. “Thank you, bless you.” Sherlock finally took Jim’s hand, his skin warm against Jim’s as their limbs shook. “As long as I’m alive you can save your friends, you’ve got a way out…” Jim paused hearing his own voice go hoarse. Sherlock’s brow lowered slightly watching the man shaking his hand slowly nod his head in acceptance. 

Jim noticed a silent click behind Sherlock’s eyes as their hands continued to shake. Sherlock looked over to Jim’s prominent left hand hanging unsteadily by his side before the criminal spoke his final words. “Well good luck with that.” Jim’s right hand gripped as tightly as he possibly could when his left hand reached for his gun. 

“No!” Sherlock thundered bumping into James before the gun went off. Sherlock backed away quickly, his breath caught in his throat as he watched a pool of blood stream from the man lying on the floor in front of him. Sherlock turned away quickly not wanting to look anymore. He felt physically ill. Jim was dead, Jim had shot himself. They had their disagreements, and Sherlock had not exactly been interested in once again romantically pursuing the criminal after all of his recent events. But James had been the one, the one thing that had made Sherlock’s life a bit more interesting, the one who understood him truly. Jim was that and so much more, and now in the blink of an eye he was nothing. The tears came naturally when John called. He didn’t want to do this to his friend, but because of the man he had cared for, they would be in danger, and his name would be tarnished. He needed time away, to fix things. As he threw the phone out of his hand and heard John yell his name he hoped his friend would understand when he came back. 

-

Sebastian’s contacts had all gone dark. None of the hitmen on Sherlock Holme’s friends had responded to him for the past half an hour. When he tried to call his boss he got the same voice box message over and over again. Jim hadn’t wanted him at the hospital but there was a twist in his gut still from their conversation before the trial. When he had arrived there was a gaggle of people huddled along one of the sidewalks and Sebastian took note of Doctor Watson sitting on the curb with his head in his hands. Then he saw the splatter of blood. But that meant Holmes had jumped, so why wasn’t his boss answering his phone calls? 

Sebastian quickly made his way to the roof top. He would have to get there quickly if he didn’t want the police to beat him there. All manner of situations flooded the snipers thoughts. Maybe the detective had his own snipers and took Moriarty out? Then his only choice would still be to jump, or maybe Holmes had attacked him? Sebastian didn’t know, but what he did know was that his boss, and friend was lying eerily still on the sunlit rooftop when he finally reached the last door to the outside. 

Sebastian jogged forward quickly, getting down to his knees to examine the man laying down before him. Sebastian’s hand shook as he placed his index finger on his boss’s wrist. One long beat later Sebastian felt a faint pulse against his finger. The sniper couldn’t believe it, he moved Jim’s body to examine the wound scraping along the side of the criminal’s head. It started at the tip of his lip and dragged almost nearly back to the top of his head. It looked like the shooter had been aiming for inside of his mouth and was knocked to the side when the gun went off. Jim would survive. The thought was quickly shoved away by another, the only reasonable explanation for the injury was that Jim had been trying to shoot himself. Sebastian wanted to yell but it would currently do him no good with the sound of the police sirens coming up from the streets below them. Thinking as fast as he could Sebastian dragged his unconscious boss the best he could over to the door and began looking for a stretcher and a uniform.


	9. Messenger Bird's Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but woowhoo 500 views and over 30 kudos! Thanks guys I'm happy that at least a few people are reading and enjoying this!
> 
> Chapter song, Bright Eyes- Messenger Bird's Song  
> (I really suggest you listen to or at least look at the lyrics for this one, it is very fitting and really pleasant)   
> Tumblr, Hellahaldir

Two years later...

Where once the world had been dark and filled with dread now it was bright and ambiguous. Mostly due to the fluorescent lights hanging ominously above Jim as his eyes slowly widened and his breath came back to him in a rush.The first thing he came to comprehend was the level of soreness and stiffness to his aching bones. He rolled his shoulders down into the bed he lay on and groaned, the action resulting in the exact opposite of how he had intended it to. The second thing he came to comprehend was as equally a feeling as it was a person. Sherlock...the name lingered on the corner of his memories for a few moments before the second part of the name joined the first. Sherlock Holmes. Jim wasn’t sure who he was, or where he was, but Jim was sure of one thing, he needed to get to Sherlock Holmes yet why he did not know as well. 

Jim looked around the room observing his surroundings with a suspicious eye. It looked medical, like a hospital. Jim didn’t know if he had ever been in one before now. He wasn’t even sure of his name, James or Jim. Both seemed somewhat correct and still utterly unfamiliar. That wasn’t what mattered now, every thought, every moment was punctuated by a name, the name, Sherlock Holmes. He had to get to Sherlock Holmes. Just as the thought had resurfaced once again a short grey haired woman walked into the small medical looking room with a clipboard in hand. When she looked up from the clipboard and to the confused looking James she startled. 

“Oh dear.” She immediately stepped back out of the room, her hand still on the door handle as she called to someone out of sight. “Call Sebastian, he is actually awake!” A moment later she stepped back into the room her hands holding the clipboard shaking slightly as she cautiously smiled at him. “Mr. Moriarty sir...uh I’m thrilled to see you awake!” She smiled not walking anywhere near the bed as she cowered behind her clipboard.

“No you’re not, you’re terrified, why are you shaking? Why are you scared?” Jim asked sitting up properly on the bed, running a hand through his hair as he spoke. Something about that didn’t feel right. He didn’t know why he asked, he couldn’t say he really cared for the answer, he just wanted to address the persisting thought in his suspiciously blank mind. Where was Sherlock Holmes? 

“Oh no, I’m not scared. Just a bit surprised...Sebastian will tell you more when he gets here.” She went to walk back out the door but Jim got up from the bed jogging after her and placing a hand on her shoulder before she could get out. 

“Who is Sebastian?” The woman looked back over her shoulder to James and slowly turned around, her head tilted to the side curiously. 

“Your second in command? The...sniper.” She spoke with a lowered voice, her eyes scanning him over as he looked back at her completely confused.

“My second in command? To what? Who is Moriarty, why are you saying all of this?” James started to back away when the woman closed the door taking a step forward with each of his steps backwards. 

“You don’t remember a thing do you?” She asked in the same lowered voice, her eyes gleaming with hunger as she stalked him into a corner. James shook his head from side to side, the woman’s right hand coming up hard and quick to the side of his face. James immediately maneuvered his way out of the corner, his hands coming up in reflex to block the punches. Everything was moving so quickly, the woman was relentlessly strong it was getting difficult to block her after each punch. Another moment later and things became exceedingly more challenging, the unnamed woman pulled a knife from what appeared to be thin air and swung the blade just nearly over James’s neck. 

“Stop!” James yelled landing a punch of his own while avoiding another slash of the knife. 

“I will take hold of all your work and soon your crumbling empire will be greater than even you could imagine.” The woman paused to speak, both of them steadily circling each other. James wasn’t sure how he knew what to do when the woman once again lunged for him, but when he did it, it felt like second nature. She charged, he slid to the right, her neck was cradled into the fold of his arm, he turned, his other hand resting on her forehead, then twist. The loud crack that followed echoed in James’s head as he dropped the woman to the floor and hurriedly stepped away, his back pressed to the door. First he stared, his breath caught in his throat, waiting for any sign at all that he hadn’t done what he knew he had. A minute passed and acceptance settled into his gut with a burning unease. He could hear voices outside the door, no one was yelling, they didn’t know what had just transpired, yet. Without another second to spare James turned, flinging the door open and charging down the hallway ignoring the yells from other medically dressed persons calling him ‘Moriarty’.

-

The only way to describe Sebastian’s current mood was complete rage. He had seen the ‘scene’ in Jim’s room. He had interrogated each of the employees he had hired to care for his boss, and he had just as quickly disposed of them. The amount of people he could trust was now back down to one, himself. Sebastian had no idea where his boss had fled to, he didn’t take the phone the sniper had placed on his bedside table, or left any sort of note. The whole situation felt frantic and out of the ordinary for Moriarty. It was just after everyone had been cleaned up when he got an alert on his cell phone. 

Two pictures of James walking away from a cash machine in central London, with a phone book in his hand. Sebastian didn’t hesitate at all, jumping into his car and rushing to the address that followed the images. It was oddly close to another location he had previously become familiar with. That was when it hit him. Sherlock Holmes. The detective had ‘come back from the dead’ just nearly a month ago. It was the understandable thing for James to ask about when he woke up. Sebastian had just turned the corner onto Baker street when he saw him, he was nearly at the flat door. Sebastian sped up and the car screeched to a halt next to the sidewalk. The sniper jumped out of the car and jogged over to his boss. James looked at him with wide eyes and shoved the sniper’s hands from his shoulders the instant they made contact.

“Back off!” James yelled taking a step away and trying to once again continue towards the baker street flat. 

“Boss, what are you doing? He will call the police the second he sees you!” Sebastian yelled side eyeing the pedestrians walking past them in a hurry. James glared, Sebastian refusing to let him walk another step. 

“I don’t know who you are, just please get out of my way!” James yelled back, again trying to push his way past Sebastian. The statement hit Sebastian off guard. James got another few feet further before Sebastian stopped him again. This time James physically tried to push him out of his way but Sebastian restrained him. 

“What do you mean? You know me, I’m your employee, your sniper, your friend. Just get in the car James.” Sebastian vowed, noticing the criminal mastermind looked as if he had been crying. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. One of the conversations he had, had with the hired doctors flashing through his mind as James looked at him with complete distaste. Memory loss. He had to get him out of here, the man didn’t know what he was doing. 

“Just trust me, you don’t know what you’re about to do!” James listened to the words, his heart racing in his chest as he looked to the door just nearly out of reach, and the man blocking his way. Something here felt familiar, the door, inside there would be steps...and music? He was about to respond, considering that maybe he should listen to the man with the american accent. But the flash of a simple memory, anything really, was just so tempting, it felt right. But then he was being dragged. “Please don’t make this difficult boss.” Sebastian spoke, even though he was having no trouble fighting against the smaller man who tried to escape his grip. 

“Let me go!” James yelled looking out across the street and noticing another car coming to a screeching stop. 

“Oi! Let him go!” A man shouted getting out of the car, rushing over to Sebastian who released James, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“Just stay out of it man, this is none of your business.” Sebastian replied looking the older man over a few times. The man shrugged stepping back slightly. 

“But it’ll be of interest to the police.” He spoke while pulling his phone out and pressing it to his ear and walking away to his car. Sebastian rolled his eyes and turned around to pull James back into the car but when he had turned the door to Baker street had just slammed shut. He looked back to the man on his phone who was smiling now and he cursed under his breath before he got into the car. He had no idea how he was going to figure this out, but now he would need to get a new car. 

-

Sherlock was feeling on top of the world. Him and John were finally back on somewhat good terms, and London was again the back of his hand. The train bomb case had proved more than helpful on several aspects. He had just finished doing his own shopping realizing that with John no longer at Baker street he would actually need to start doing that now. With a perfectly aged apple in his mouth he opened the door to Baker street already feeling frustrated when the front door was unusually locked. He set the bag of groceries down and pulled out the key that so often went unused. Maybe Mrs. Hudson had gone out as well and was feeling a tad paranoid. She had been hovering ever since Sherlock’s return so an attempt at keeping him and his belongings safe by locking the front door seemed predictable. If it was going to be a new procedure he would very much like to enter into a negotiation. However when he walked inside he could hear the woman humming along to her radio, happy as ever. 

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yelled placing his bag down once more onto the first step in the landing. The woman came out of her flat looking at Sherlock with a wide smile. 

“Ohh Sherlock good you’re back! I think you’ve got a client upstairs! Came rushing in! Could you believe it? Didn’t even stop long enough so I could see who it was. He just said he needed to see you, very nice sounding.” The woman ended her summary with a happy wink before turning back into her own flat and closing the door. Sherlock pondered for a moment. He took another bite of is apple as his mind made the most logical conclusion. The locked door made sense for a client, especially if they were on the run or trying to hide from an assaulter. He picked the groceries up again and walked up the stairs, his senses slowly picking up on the faint sound of violin strings being plucked at. That seemed rude, most unannounced clients didn’t even step a foot up the stairs, yet alone touch his things. Sherlock slammed the door open about to let who ever the sorry intruder was have the worst talking to of their life but the words died in his throat. James Moriarty stood over his violin, his eyes slowly lifting from the instrument to meet with the detectives as the groceries dropped from his arms. 

“James…” Sherlock spoke the name and James felt his erratic heartbeat settle at last. This was right, Sherlock Holmes saying his name, the right one, James, here in this space. “You shot yourself.” He added and instantly James felt uneasy again. 

“Can you tell me who I am?” Jim asked stepping away from the violin that was unfortunately void of music currently. He waited for a response, Sherlock seemingly taking a moment to process his presence. The lapse in conversation had James questioning if maybe the American had been right. But then Sherlock stepped closer his hand slowly reaching forward and landing ever so gently onto the side of Jim’s face, tracing along a faint scar. 

“I missed you.”


	10. Come On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song, Come on by Panic at the Disco and Fun  
> Tumblr, Hellahaldir

“Excuse me…” Sherlock spoke again after what seemed a very inappropriate amount of time. James watched him walk out of the room confused but Sherlock didn’t have time to be considerate. The moment he was back down the stairs and standing outside he pulled his phone from his pocket. The phone rang twice before the answer came. 

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” John’s worried voice sounded through the speaker. 

“Why would you say something is wrong?” Sherlock immediately replied, looking around to see if the doctor was actually coming down the street for a visit. 

“Sherlock you never call, it’s usually just the odd text.” John huffed a light laugh accompanying the statement. Sherlock supposed he was right, there was something very wrong...but it didn’t really feel so. 

“I need you to come over to Baker Street now. I’ll explain when you get here.” Sherlock was about to hang up but John knowing his friend spoke quickly. 

“Is it a case? Should I bring my gun?” John’s answer resulted in a short debate within Sherlock’s mind before he said his final words. 

“Don’t bring the gun.” He hung the phone up and walked back inside. He supposed the best thing for him to do right now would’ve been to call George, but he had two years of fighting among himself and his opinion of James. He didn’t really care what the best thing to do was right now, but he did know what he wanted to do. He walked back into the flat, James was standing in the exact spot he had been when Sherlock had walked out. Sherlock took the three steps necessary to reach the criminal mastermind and wrapped his arms around the shorter man’s waist. He leaned down without any hesitance and although James eyes fluttered looking confused Sherlock felt no other resistance so he connected their lips. James lips were warm, at first there was a hardness to the line they drew but when Sherlock pressed closer James relaxed. The criminals hands came up to rest on Sherlock’s chest as they took another moment to enjoy the soft press of the other’s lips. Sherlock didn’t want to pull away but he needed to speak freely before John arrived. James seemed equally upset by the action but he too stepped back waiting for Sherlock’s words. 

“When I left, I was mad. Well that’s putting it mildly, as I’m sure you can assume. But then after the roof...I understood after a while. I understood the pull towards what I thought you had done. I don’t know if it was just a show to teach me, but I understand now. And after everything, after all the months passed filled with destroying possibly the most interesting web ever created I felt the pull, that ache for something more. I knew what it was of course, your absence. Without you there was nothing left for me to do, no one left for me to speak with that felt like-” Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks when James held up his hands. His eyes were wide and bouncing off of Sherlock with absolute hopelessness.

“You left? Where did you go? what roof?” James spoke each word quickly trying to keep up but was completely lost. Sherlock’s brow lowered as he tried to remember what he should’ve been paying attention to. 

“You don’t know who you are…” Sherlock said slowly, the first words James had spoken to him when he entered the flat coming back to him now. He had no idea how he had managed to miss that, it might’ve been the fact that the man had shot himself in front of Sherlock and was now standing perfectly fine in front of him, well fine appearance wise minus the thin scar along the right side of his face. Then a question arose and Sherlock felt an overwhelming wave of affection roll his stomach as he stepped closer again. “But you remembered me…” As if on a timer John’s footsteps came running up the stairs.

“Sherl-Oh oh my god.” John stood cautiously in the doorway. He was pointing one finger at James and flicking his eyes between the two as his mouth fell open. “I’m calling Gregg.” John finally spoke moving back out the door quickly. Sherlock soon turned after him, snatching the doctor’s phone from his hands before he could even press the call button. “Sherlock!” 

 

“Wait, just wait!” Sherlock shouted when John tried to snatch his phone back. 

“Sherlock no! I spent two years thinking you were-!” Sherlock cut him off slamming the door shut loudly behind them both as they stood on the landing. 

“Shut up John!” Sherlock yelled putting the cell phone in his coat pocket and running his hands through his hair. “He doesn’t remember anything...he has no idea who he is.” Sherlock lowered his voice and started to pace the small space. 

“Excuse me? Do you really think I’d fall for that? He’s faking it Sherlock don’t let him get to you again!” John continued to huff angrily his hands fisting and flexing anxiously.

“He shot himself John.” Sherlock countered watching the doctor as he paced. 

“Then how is he standing...in your flat?” John pointed to the door pursing his lips and crossing his arms.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock answered and John shrugged like he had won, once again reaching for his phone now in Sherlock’s pocket. “He has a scar John, I don’t know how it happened but it did!” Sherlock encouraged moving out of John’s reach.

“Well then figure it out. Now!” John waved over to the door and Sherlock shot him an angry glare. He wasn’t a brain surgeon, he had a fairly good idea of how memory loss worked but if he was going to ask the correct questions to prove James had lost his memory he would have to be very considerate of his words. They both walked back into the flat, John following closely behind Sherlock who sat down in his chair and crossed his legs thoughtfully. 

“James sit down please, we need to ask you some questions.” Sherlock motioned to the couch turning his own chair so he could focus on the criminal as he spoke. James sat down on the couch and John leaned against the door into the flat, his eyes never leaving the criminal. 

“I just want to know what is going on.” James spoke, his voice sounded so soft. Sherlock’s brain filled with the sound of an old woman saying her dying words about the very criminal in front of him. He shook his head and refocused. 

“Do you know who this man is?” Sherlock gestured over to John who was still leaning against the door, waiting and expectant. The doctor’s hesitance was understandable but Sherlock was getting irritated by it. He didn’t care if Jim was faking it or not, he was alive. He was alive and at the moment that was all Sherlock really cared about. 

“Should I?” Jim asked taking a quick glance at the doctor before he turned to look back at the man he did recognize. 

“Oh just answer the question.” John demanded once again crossing his arms. 

“He did John, now either be useful or shut up.” Sherlock snapped feeling guilty immediately after the words had come out when John looked at him with surprise. 

“No I don’t know who you are, I don’t know who I am!” Jim groaned running his hands over his face his voice cracking with irritation. The behavior felt more like James then anything Sherlock had seen since he had walked in and it was comforting. “The only thing I remember is him!” James yelled pointing over to Sherlock. 

“Where are we?” Sherlock pondered watching James carefully now. 

“London?” James replied looking confused once again. 

“If I needed to go somewhere but don’t have my own car what would I do?” Sherlock pressed, leaning forwards now. 

“Get a cab?” James more so questioned then he answered. 

“What are common household pet species?” John looked over to Sherlock now, slowly catching on. 

“Dogs, cats, fish, what does this matter?” Jim asked slightly relaxed now.   
“Where would I find a whale?” Sherlock ignored the question. 

“The ocean.” James answered again looking between Sherlock and the other man. Sherlock stood up and walked over to John who watched him now just as confused as Jim. Sherlock bent down picking an apple off of the floor and walking into the kitchen to grab a knife. It wasn’t the same knife which he was sure still remained somewhere in the flat but it would do for now. He stabbed the apple as he walked back into the room. 

“Does this hold any significance to us?” Sherlock inquired placing the apple and knife into Jim’s waiting hands. Jim stared at it for a moment, turning the apple by holding the knife handle. He felt something, some sort of familiarity. But it may of just been the fact that it was an apple, and he was fairly sure he’d eaten many before so he brushed it off. 

“No…” James set the apple down on the table in front of him and looked up to Sherlock who was staring down at him. 

“John outside now.” Sherlock spun on the spot pulling the doctor back out the door and once again closing it behind them.

“I don’t know Sherlock.” John looked over to Sherlock still feeling suspicious.

“He’s telling the truth.” Sherlock went back to pacing the small landing, 

“So what do we do? Call the police, Mycroft?” John suggested watching Sherlock pace. Sherlock stopped mid step and looked up to the door with wide eyes before he looked over to John. 

“We don’t tell him.” Sherlock mumbled placing the tips of his fingers under his chin and going back to pacing. 

“Sorry what?” John stammered holding up his right hand to get Sherlock’s attention back to him. “And what just let him go on, without paying for anything he’s done in the past?” 

“It would appear he’s had some sort of damage to his Hippocampus but his semantic memory still appears to be intact. He is capable of functioning like any other person, he just doesn’t have the memory of being a criminal mastermind. Would you want to condemn a man for actions he can’t even remember?” Sherlock looked over to John keeping his voice even and low so their guest couldn’t hear them. 

“Sherlock...you’re the smartest man I’ve ever known. But if you’re saying this because of you and him and not just him then please just think about it. What if he gets his memories back? What if he is actually faking it and this is just another elaborate plot to destroy you?” John spoke quickly trying to keep his voice low as well. 

“I…” Sherlock considered for a moment. His mind racing back to the days where he thought he could never see the next. The times wasted away thinking about all of his missteps pertaining to his relationship with James. The sheer unexpected all consuming loneliness and longing for a companion who knew him. “And if I was…” Sherlock asked choosing not to continue their eye contact. John’s mouth fell open and he leaned back a bit. 

“You mean if you…” John looked back to the door his shoulders slumping. “If it was just for you and him?” John finished looking back to Sherlock who was staring at the door. 

“Yes.” Sherlock said with finality looking over to his friend, hoping he would find a reasonable answer to his dilemma. John shook his head the sternness to his stance easing somewhat. 

“I might be a bit put off by all of this Sherlock. But I’m your friend above everything else. And well I get it. But just promise me if you need help, with anything, you’ll tell me.” John gave in making sure Sherlock paid attention to every word. Sherlock nodded in agreement about to walk back into the flat when John held his hand up again. “But is this really right, not telling him who he is. How do we know he doesn’t have family somewhere looking for him?” 

“I doubt it, and also unlikely. But is there another alternative that is better suited to your morals that works for everyone?” Sherlock handed John his phone back feeling more assured now. Sherlock walked over to the door looking back to his friend before he opened it. “I’ll text you tomorrow.” He opened the door and had a foot in before he stopped himself and turned back around again. “Thank you.” John looked at his friend confused, amused, but mostly hopeful. 

“You’re welcome Sherlock.” John walked down the stairs the same time Sherlock turned back into the flat.

-

John had almost reached his and Mary’s home before he pulled his phone back out. It took a couple of tries but eventually Sherlock answered. 

“What?”

“But what if he does get his memories back?” John asked again, hoping this time he’d get an answer. 

“Then it’s something we’ll have to deal with. Think of the possibilities John. With his semantic memory still fully intact he is completely capable of functioning and living a good life. He is still intelligent, he is a brilliant mathematician and astronomer and all of that remained intact. He has simply lost all of his personal memories...well excluding the memory of me.” Sherlock began to rant, John could hear the faint sound of cars so he assumed Sherlock had at least thankfully stepped outside. 

“Yes but Sherlock wouldn’t it be good to think of when or if he gets those memories back? What if he gets mad? Really mad, you destroyed his empire, you defeated him on the roof. And then what, let him stay at your flat just because he lost his memories?” John was pacing outside his house now, not wanting Mary to overhear their current conversation.

“It was always more than that…” There was a long pause but John waited. “If he gets his memories back I will face the repercussions that are deserved.” It wasn’t exactly the answer John wanted to hear, but he was glad that Sherlock could at least start to see where things may go wrong. 

“Right, okay. Call me if you need anything.” John hung up the phone when he finished his statement. He put the phone back into his pocket and walked inside to see Mary sitting at the table with a cup of in her hands. “Hello.” John smiled leaning down to place a kiss onto the woman’s cheek. 

“You’re late.” Mary commented watching John walk into the kitchen. 

“Sherlock.” John replied, pouring himself a cup of tea and walking over to the table to join Mary. 

“Ahh I see. Another train bomb?” Mary smiled taking a sip of her own drink. John chuckled looking at the woman he wanted to marry sitting across from him. 

“Not exactly no. I really don’t know if I should even talk about it really. Wouldn’t want to put you in any danger.” John grinned when Mary rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. 

“C’mon you can tell me. Cross my heart, won't tell a soul.” Mary watched him, motioning with her hand a cross over her chest. John smiled and easily gave in. 

“One of Sherlock’s old criminal pals came back from the dead today. Showed up at his door not remembering who he is at all, just remembered Sherlock.” John was still trying to process everything but talking about it did seem to lighten the mood. Mary laughed into her cup as she took another sip. 

“Poor sod, police come and get him?” Mary set the cup down and tilted her head to the side when John shook his head no. 

“This is why I shouldn’t say anything really.” John hesitated but Mary quirked an eyebrow and he continued. “Him and Sherlock used to have a thing. I’m not even going to pretend to understand what but it was a big deal. So Sherlock is trying to help him now, or at least I think he is.” 

“Would I know him?” Mary asked slightly surprised by Sherlock having any sort of thing with anyone besides her doctor. 

“Maybe he was in a few papers a couple of years ago, before everything you know…” John stopped his hand waving out in front of him trying to display the words instead of speaking them. 

“Ohhh this is getting interesting. So he was a really bad guy? And him and Sherlock had a thing? Like a you thing, or…” Mary waggled her eyebrows and John laughed again. 

“I think it started as friends, if that’s a word you could use to describe a relationship between those two. But no it wasn’t like me and Sherlock, they were more...like me and you. But also enemies.” Mary smiled holding out her hand to join with John’s over the table top. 

“So what’s his name then? Should we invite him to tea sometime?” Mary squeezed John’s hand when he laughed again. 

“Uh no I don’t think that’s really either of their thing.” Mary nodded and John continued. “Remember this is classified information.”

“Got it.” Mary sat up nodding her head with encouragement.

“Moriarty. Well James Moriarty.” John’s grip on Mary’s hand tightened when her face fell and she remained quite, the fun completely gone from her eyes. “Mary?” 

“Sorry no I think I have heard of him. Probably just saw him on the news sometime.” Mary snapped back letting go of John’s hand and smiling again. “Fish sound good tonight?” She asked getting up from the table and taking both of their empty cups with her to the kitchen. 

“Great yeah.” John called after her. When Mary was no longer in sight of the doctor she pulled her phone out and saw three missed calls from a number she would never forget. She hadn’t seen the criminal mastermind since their plane ride to Turkey, but she knew this was not good. She had wanted out of this, and now a sniper and second in command to the largest criminal empire was calling her on her personal phone. “Any biscuits?” John popped his head into the kitchen and smiled when Mary turned around to glare at him. 

“You bad boy, you’re getting a salad with your fish tonight.” John laughed and walked back out again. Mary deleted all the calls and moved over to the fridge debating all of her options. 

-

“So I was a teacher?” Jim asked pacing around the flat as Sherlock watched him from his arm chair. 

“No you were a professor. I don’t know what school, you never told me.” Sherlock added stretching his arm out to grab his violin. 

“Of mathematics?” Jim asked sitting down on the couch again and watching as Sherlock tuned his instrument. 

“Yes.” Sherlock replied about to start playing something he hoped Jim would think familiar. 

“What...what about us?” Jim asked no longer looking at his host. Sherlock placed the bow to the strings. 

“That’s a bit more complicated…” He began to play and Jim eased into the soft melody his eyes stuck on the musician.


	11. White Blank Page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song, White Blank Page by Mumford and Sons  
> Tumblr, HellaHaldir

Sebastian was rethinking his career options as he sat in a cheap chair facing a window that looked over Baker street, laptop in his hands. He had been constantly trying to keep Moriarty’s empire afloat through all of the destruction the Holmes Detective had caused. Among another few brave souls who grew in boldness when they thought the criminal had died. Jim was still dead to the world, well the criminal world. He was however very much alive inside Sherlock Holme’s flat across the street from Sebastian. He had been there for two days now and Sherlock had already closed the blinds on the sniper, he couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting it. But Sebastian curiously found himself no longer worried about what the detective was going to do. He was still completely confused by the fact that Scotland yard hadn’t showed up within five minutes of the detective returning to the flat, but he couldn’t exactly complain. The most he could do now was hope that behind those curtains Jim wasn’t being tortured. He had only resurfaced once, but he had been accompanied by the detective to wherever it was they were going, so Sebastian knew it’d be pointless to follow. If he had, Holmes would’ve either revealed him, or lost him within a matter of minutes. When they had come back that had been when Sherlock closed the curtains and they hadn’t been open again since, that was an entire day now. Sebastian sighed when his phone started to ring. He looked at the caller id and heavily debated if he wanted to answer. If there was one reason to want James back it was because Sebastian was shit at finding good level headed employees. 

“Boss?” The voice sounded when Sebastian answered the call. 

“Always send me a text before you call, in case I’’m in a situation that won't allow me to answer or if there is a tap on my phone. And use the goddamn code in the messages.” Sebastian hissed out, his eyes not moving off of 221B.

“Sorry boss. I uh have an update on the girl you sent me after.” 

“A.G?” Sebastian clarified looking back down to his laptop. 

“Yes sir, I don’t think you’re going to like it though.” Sebastian rolled his eyes and sat up straighter in the chair. He severely doubted he could be surprised anymore. “She’s engaged…” Sebastian re considered. 

“To who?” He asked closing the laptop now. There was a silent pause before the kid finally answered back.

“Doctor John H. Watson. She has taken on a new identity and settled down as some sort of medical assistant.” 

“Good work. Keep your eyes on her, I want to know everything she does.” Sebastian hung up the phone and got out of the chair running his hands through his hair and trying to keep calm. Sebastian had no honest idea what the woman was up to but whatever it was he needed to figure it out quickly. 

-

“I don’t understand.” James said staring at a piece of paper in his hands. Sherlock looked over to him from his microscope. “If I’m so good at math why does everyone keep rejecting me, I’ve still only had the one interview.” James laid down on the couch tossing the rejection letter off to side and out of sight. 

“You’re overqualified.” Sherlock replied stepping away from his experiment and moving to sit on the floor in front of the couch. Jim turned onto his side to look at the detective. “I put an application in at a better school for you yesterday, if what I suspect is true it will be the school you once worked at. You’ll be back to teaching by next semester.” Sherlock paused when Jim reached his hand forward running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

“Why is it all so easy? Sherlock I’m bored.” James complained his fingers sending chills down Sherlock’s spine. Sherlock shivered when James dragged the last word of his statement and licked his lips as he observed the detective. “This feels familiar…” Jim said his hand lowering to the lapels of Sherlock’s coat and gripping tightly. Jim was leaning and Sherlock watched as the criminal slowly closed his eyes and their lips pressed together. Sherlock’s eyes closed briefly as well, letting Jim kiss him slowly. The kiss felt warm, although at a strange angle was very pleasant. When Sherlock felt the urge to deepen their affections he quickly pulled away and stood up.

“I can’t be your distraction James.” Sherlock spoke walking over to his violin and peeking out the window. 

“Why not?” James asked sitting up on the couch clearly annoyed.

“Why not try something else, like music?” Sherlock threw a book on music theory over to his flat guest as he began to play a melody from memory. 

“This is boring too.” Jim stated after a few minutes, not bothering to be polite and wait until Sherlock had finished his song. “What did I do before…” Jim waved his hand over the right side of his face where his scar was. 

“Me.” Sherlock replied without thinking. When what he had said finally clicked in his head he looked over to James who had gone read in the face. “No, I mean we would...spend time together.” Sherlock set down the violin and sighed when Jim rolled his eyes and sunk back into the couch.

“And we never?” Jim asked waving his arms around in front of him trying to convey a statement he felt to embarrassed to speak aloud. 

“I didn’t...well there was some. But that isn’t the point James.” Sherlock stuttered. He moved back over to the kitchen where his microscope was so he no longer had to look at James. For a few silent blissful minutes he believed himself safe from any further discussion of the sensitive topic. But then he felt James’s hands slowly wrapping around his middle from behind, and then there was a faint breath of air on his neck. 

“Why don’t you want to talk about this?” Jim paused and placed his lips on the exposed skin of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock sighed pushing away the effect Jim’s lips had on his neck to the furthest corner of his mind. “I want to know you Sherlock…” Jim’s voice vibrated against his skin and Sherlock turned slowly. He moved Jim’s hands from around his waist and instead held onto the other man’s hands as he considered him. 

“You are...in an unusual situation where your only memory of me is well, me. You don’t know who I am beside what I have told you. You do not even know yourself. I want you, to regain something, or stabilize your current situation before we do anything more.” Sherlock struggled against the words as James ate him alive with merely his eyes.

“When will the school contact me?” James asked regrettably stepping away from the detective. Sherlock wanted to reach back out to him when he recognized the mask of contentedness that slipped on over James’s disappointment.

“By my calculations, tomorrow morning. I gave them the number to the phone we got you yesterday.” Sherlock replied watching as James picked up the music theory book once again. 

“Did I study music before?” James asked sitting down in Sherlock’s arm chair as he opened the book. Sherlock laughed and looked back to his microscope. 

“You never understood it, but you pretended to.” Sherlock peeked over to James who was now again red in the face. 

“Did I lie often?” James glanced over the words in the book already feeling boredom on the papers edge between his fingers.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered dreading the direction their conversation was heading. “But I always found the truth, one way or another. Reading people is a bit of a specialty of mine.” Sherlock adjusted his scope and took down a note. 

“Read me.” James suggested, once again closing the book. 

“No.” Sherlock quickly answered still writing in his notebook beside him. 

“Pleaseee?” James stared him down and Sherlock sighed, the plea sounding far too similar to another.

“I don’t have to read you, I know your situation, I know who you are and what you’ve been through.” Sherlock set his pen down and finally turned to look at James who was frowning, disappointed.

“Yes but tell me what I want.” James stood up again and walked over to the kitchen leaning against the wall. 

“I already know this James. You want to rediscover your life.” Sherlock closely observed the man standing a few feet away from him. It was partially true but even Sherlock could guess that it wasn’t what James had been suggesting. “That's it.” Sherlock added hoping it would help his case. 

“But we both know that’s not quite true.” James spoke the words and immediately closed his eyes. His hands came up to his temples and he gasped. “Why were we at a pool?” Sherlock froze in his chair watching as James slowly opened his eyes again. 

“We were swimming.” Sherlock answered turning back to his work quickly. “Does that happen often?” Sherlock mused not looking back up. 

“The flashes? Yes. Do you want to hear about the one I had last night?” James was standing behind him again, and thankfully for Sherlock not trying to get any closer. 

“You had one last night?” Sherlock decided to turn away from his work, clearly unable of actually getting something done while James was being interesting. 

“You were on top of me…” James paused and Sherlock straightened his shoulders. 

“That's enough.” Sherlock interrupted as his heart began to race. James pouted and stepped forward wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck to bring them closer together as he spoke. 

“I know you want me just as bad as I want you. Stop fighting, it’s so much easier.” James leaned in and connected their lips. Sherlock groaned at the contact and in response James bit down on Sherlock’s lip. Sherlock placed his hands on Jim’s waist as he slid his tongue into his criminal’s mouth. Jim’s hands moved from around Sherlock’s neck as their kiss deepened to place onto the detective’s thighs. Jim parted them so he could stand between Sherlock’s legs who was still sitting in his chair. When Sherlock didn’t protest their new position James slid his hands back upwards to start unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock was consuming the criminal mastermind in his arms trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head yelling at him to stop, that it wasn’t really James, but as he felt his shirt being undone, and heard the familiar soft moans it felt more like his James than anything else. Sherlock slid his right hand just under Jim’s trousers the warmth of the man’s skin encouraging him forwards. Before they could get any further however there was a knock on the door. James immediately gripped onto Sherlock’s shirt and pulled him closer, almost knocking him out of the chair entirely. “Ignore it.” James hissed, his lips still mostly connected to Sherlock’s. Sherlock considered doing just that but when no other knocks followed and there was a faint sound of something tapping against the floorboards on the landing he knew he had to answer it.

“I can’t.” Sherlock leaned away, removing his hands from Jim as he stood up. “I’ll be back.” Sherlock re did his buttons and straightened his shirt as he moved to the door into the flat. James watched him go and sighed, taking Sherlock’s seat and glancing over the work he had been doing before James had distracted him. Sherlock opened the door and quickly stepped out into the landing while re closing the door behind him for good measure. 

“Sherlock not inviting me in?” Mycroft leaned trying to peer inside as much as he could before Sherlock had closed the door. 

“What do you want?” Sherlock snapped back uncertain if he was actually grateful for the distraction. Mycroft’s gaze hardened and he stopped tapping his umbrella. 

“I think we both know why I am here.” Mycroft smiled with an air of knowing and Sherlock crossed his arms behind his back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sherlock distracted himself by observing the wall. 

“Don’t worry brother, I’m not here to take him away. I was just curious to observe.” Mycroft began to step towards the door but Sherlock quickly blocked his path. 

“He isn’t some sort of science experiment to take notes on.” Sherlock replied keeping himself in Mycroft’s way. 

“Then what is he Sherlock?” Mycroft answered back cooly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened the door, still not letting his brother inside. 

“None of your business.” Sherlock closed the door in his brother’s face and sighed when he didn’t hear him walking away.

“If you want me to keep a blind eye to this, I’ll want answers Sherlock.” Mycroft’s voice snaked through the wood on the door and Sherlock locked it before he walked back away and into the kitchen. James looked up at him when he re entered the room and smiled as he dropped Sherlock’s pen.

“Who was it?” James asked turning to face the detective. 

“No one.” Sherlock replied moving out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom. He needed a shower, a cold one.


	12. I found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever I know :/ life sucks sometimes. But hey here it is! And prepare to hate me more for uploading it because it's probably sadder than waiting for an update just a warning :D This is nsfw, and the poem used is Lord Byron 'When We Two Parted'. 
> 
> Chapter Song 'I found Love' by Amber Run  
> Tumblr, http://hellahaldir.tumblr.com/

“Sweetie don’t you have anything else to wear?” Mrs. Hudson the overly affectionate landlady posed the question to James. James had made a habit of going down the stairs to see the woman when ever he got bored and Sherlock was out.

“You know, I’m not sure.” James replied taking a sip of his tea. “I have this and a pair of pajamas that Sherlock gave to me.” Mrs. Hudson tisked at his answer and he reached into his back pocket. 

“Sherlock should take you out sometime for more clothes. I’ll give that man a talk don’t you worry.” She responded smiling and patting James on the shoulder as she stood up taking an empty plate to the sink. James wasn’t per say fond of the woman, infact he wasn’t very fond of many people. He hadn’t had a chance to meet that many besides the older woman and the pushy doctor from his first day at Baker street. Even the people on television felt annoying, the only way to describe them he thought was; boring. James began to space out, feeling a strange pull in his gut as his mind tumbled into a void of unanswered questions. There was something bigger, he was missing something, something important that perhaps Sherlock didn’t know or remember to tell him that was important. He needed something, a part of him that he couldn’t yet understand. Mrs. Hudson broke him out of the now common silence filled with his unanswered questions with a curious hum. “What do you have there?” She asked noticing the wallet in his hands. 

“Ohh this, Sherlock told me it’s my wallet, but I don’t know any of the pin numbers or information to use any of the cards in it. I was thinking about getting some clothes with it, but I can’t if I don’t have the numbers…” He paused, sighing and taking out one of the cards. “Two of them are different names…” He frowned spinning one of the cards around in between his fingers. 

“Well dear I know just the thing!” The woman smiled taking the card into her hands and smiling with excitement. “Me and a girlfriend worked here for ages. Well I did for a bit before...oh never mind. Give me just a minute.” Mrs. Hudson fussed around James before taking the card away and walking over to her phone. James watched her for a moment before she started to talk to someone on the other line. James did his best to block out the woman’s conversation, that had somehow turned into a light discussion of politics. He looked back down to his wallet now missing one card. He opened every flap, and pocket like he had done a hundred times before, trying to understand. There was nothing besides the two cards and one business card. He pulled out the business card and turned it over in his fingers. It was some sort of suit company with a man’s name written on the back, along with all the other usual things on a business card. “Any chance you know your last name sweetie?” Mrs. Hudson called and James looked up to the woman with a confused shake of his head. 

“I’m not sure.” He drawled and paused for a moment. “It might be Moriarty.” Mrs. Hudson paused, moving the phone in her hands to the other ear before she shook her head and repeated the name into the receiver. Not a moment later Mrs. Hudson was running for a pen and paper, quickly writing down information that the woman was giving her. After the landlady had set down the pen she paused, a small gasp falling from her mouth. 

“Sandra, I’m sorry I just can’t understand his policy.” There was another pause and James looked up, curious now. “Well then why else shouldn’t I call again?” Mrs. Hudson’s voice stung with venom in each word, but had no chance to sting before the other woman on the line ended the call. “Well that was strange. I’ll give her a call later.” Mrs. Hudson placed the phone back into it’s holder and smiled at James while she folded her arms. “That names sounds so familiar…” She pondered for a moment but waved her hand as if dismissing an invisible question.

“So did she help us?” James asked looking to the paper in the woman's hand. She gasped again and stepped forward to hand James the paper. 

“Oh yes very much. Pin numbers, account numbers, and whatever else you might need. You know I think this calls for a day out.” She smiled pointing to each number and line on the paper. James couldn’t focus on the information in front of him. 

“So that was it then?” He asked placing the paper down and looking at Mrs. Hudson as she sat down again. 

“Oh yes, I have more connections than Sherlock cares to know about.” She winked, smiling at james as she put the sheet of folded paper into his wallet.

“I mean, my last name. It’s Moriarty?” James thought back to the man in the street, and the woman at the hospital. They both called him Moriarty. 

“It would seem so. But come now let's go get you some clothes.” She stood handing James back his wallet. James nodded and gave her the business card. 

“Can we start there?” Mrs. Hudson smiled looking at the card. 

“Well you certainly have enough money for it.” She latched their arms together and grabbed her own purse before they both walked out of the flat. 

 

-

“What do you mean you lost him?” 

“I got back and he wasn’t here.” Sherlock replied, his anger only rising with the irritated undertones of John’s voice. 

“Did you try asking Mrs. Hudson?” 

“Of course not, I don’t think they’ve even spoken a word to each other.” Sherlock answered back quickly, just as the door down the stairs creaked open. “Hold on.” Sherlock spoke, opening 221B’s door and walking down the stairs to see Mrs. Hudson walking in with a collection of shopping bags. “Have you seen James?” Sherlock asked looking around the woman and confusing himself at seeing all the famously male brand clothing stores logos on the bags. Before the landlady could respond the door opened again. James then walked in with several other bags in his arms, and wearing a perfectly tailored Westwood suit. 

“Oh Sherlock give us a hand would you?” Mrs. Hudson spoke handing off all of her bags to Sherlock as he spoke into the phone once more. 

“Never mind, I’ve found him.” Sherlock hung the phone up and took another glance at James in his new suit before he turned quickly on the spot and went back up the stairs. He set the bags down on the floor and ran his hands through his hair nervously. It was almost identical to the suit James had worn to the pool so long ago. Sherlock walked over to his violin, a habit he began to understand that he fled to now when he didn’t know how to respond to his current predicament. He began to play, and didn’t hear James as he walked into the flat. 

Sherlock thought back to the pool, the hospital, even the short cab ride. It all felt so long ago, like a dream that was slowly being forgotten as his mind filled with the memories of a bar bathroom, and a under furnished flat in the city. Sherlock missed James Moriarty, that much was evident from the spike in his heart beat at seeing him looking so similar to his old self. But he could also admit to caring for the new James just as much, there was just a lack of something, besides their own history that didn’t feel acceptable. He of course debated nearly everyday of telling Jim who he actually was, but that would run the risk of Sherlock losing him forever, whether it be James running away or him regaining his memories and going back to trying to kill Sherlock, it simply would not work out. 

“Johann Sebastian Bach would be appalled…” James spoke from somewhere behind Sherlock. Sherlock turned around seeing Jim sitting on the floor surrounded by his bags of clothing, clearly in the middle of sorting it all out. 

“Excuse me?” Sherlock stuttered placing his violin and bow down as he stepped forward. 

“It happened again.” James gestured to his head looking back down to the pile of clothes around him. Sherlock knelt down onto his knees and grabbed Jim by his shoulders until James was looking at him again. 

“Tell me now, is this another game? Tell me!” Sherlock yelled gripping tightly onto the smaller man, who was looking at Sherlock with wide eyes. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jim replied, his attention fully on Sherlock now. The detective studied him for another moment and sighed. Sherlock removed his hands from Jim’s shoulders and sat back on his heels, about to get back up. “What are you hiding?” James asked before Sherlock could run off. 

“I can’t tell you.” Sherlock replied solemnly. To Sherlock’s surprise Jim leaned forward and kissed him, it didn’t last despite both of them wanting it to. “It will ruin everything...but I want to. I miss you.” Sherlock whispered the words against Jim’s lips. Jim nodded his head as he leaned away from the detective. 

“I’ll figure it out on my own.” Jim spoke the words, and they both knew what he meant. Neither of them looked over to the door that suddenly became hauntingly present in their minds. Jim started to place his organized clothes back into their bags. Sherlock moved his hand over Jim’s and stopped his actions. 

“No one has ever puzzled me quite like you have.” Sherlock entwined their fingers, having a difficult time looking the criminal in the eye before he leaned in once more. Jim met him halfway, this time their kiss was deeper. Sherlock’s hands rested on the back of the criminal’s neck as their mouths opened to each other. Sherlock felt the pull to stop, knowing this wasn’t truly the man he wanted to be intimate with, but when the familiar moan hummed against his lips a wave of recognition washed away his hesitance. Jim felt the sudden acceptance of his affections and pressed forward until he was sitting in Sherlock’s lap. Sherlock moved his hands from Jim’s neck down to his hips as he was straddled, still trying to focus on the lips compassionately pressing against his.

The soft, delicacy of their caresses shifted to something much fiercer when Sherlock unbuttoned Jim’s suit jacket and let it slide to the floor. Jim’s fingers slid through Sherlock’s hair as their lips crashed harder and he bit down. Sherlock groaned at the bite and began to remove Jim’s shirt until he was pushed onto his back. Jim remained sitting upwards in Sherlock’s lap, his hips slowly circling against the growing excitement he felt beneath him. Jim’s hands quickly began to undo the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt, rapidly exposing the skin underneath. Sherlock’s fingers dug into Jim’s hips when the smaller man leaned down and traced his tongue against the skin of his chest.

“Are you sure?” Jim asked as his teeth lightly scraped over Sherlock’s exposed nipple. He felt a shudder run through Sherlock at the action and smiled against the skin his lips were pressed to. Sherlock debated internally for a moment. He knew Jim would leave, Sherlock couldn’t tell him, but if Jim could figure things out on his own there was still a chance he would come back. But it was the lack of a chance or a hope that Jim would ever return to him that gave him a answer to Jim’s question. 

“Yes.” Sherlock replied, sitting up again and getting a steady grip onto Jim before he stood. Jim wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist tightly as they kissed and began to move towards the detective’s bedroom. When they entered Sherlock closed the door behind him with his foot before he placed Jim down onto the bed. Sherlock removed the rest of his shirt as Jim did the same. The detective joined the criminal on the bed and was immediately rolled back onto his back as Jim crawled over him and re started their kiss. The criminal and current thief of all of Sherlock’s acute attentions moved his hand over the hardness in the detective’s trousers. Sherlock lifted his hips up at the action and moved his own hands to begin removing the remainder of Jim’s clothes. In response Jim separated their kiss and leaned over to the end table beside the bed. He pulled open one of the drawers and pulled out a container of lube. Sherlock observed the bottle carefully and laughed. “When did you put that there?” Sherlock asked, gritting his teeth when Jim stood up and pulled down his suit pants. 

“Three days ago.” Jim replied now removing Sherlock’s pants. Sherlock sat up and helped the criminal until they were both completely bare. Jim appeared to absorb Sherlock with his eyes as he once again climbed onto the bed. This time Sherlock rolled them over, placing himself between Jim’s opened legs as he took hold of the bottle. 

“May I?” Sherlock asked, tracing his lips along the criminal’s neck. Jim didn’t reply with words, simply nodding his head and gasping when Sherlock bit down on the skin of his neck. Sherlock hummed thoughtfully as he opened the bottle and coated his fingers. Sherlock traced his hand delicately over Jim’s erection before his hand slid lower, teasing just outside of his entrance. Sherlock debated a strategy but his lack of experience told him to just focus on Jim's responses so he dived in not wanting to wait any longer. Jim’s nails slid up Sherlock’s back when he felt Sherlock’s digit sink into him slowly. Jim moaned when Sherlock began to gently push the finger in and out. Jim’s eyes reopened, never remembering them closing, to see Sherlock watching him carefully. “I want to know what makes you moan, writhe...ache.” Sherlock repeated the criminal’s words, a spike of adrenaline rushing through him as Jim’s eyes widened. There was a brief recognition there but not enough for a response. Sherlock added another finger and curved them slightly watching as Jim threw his head back in pleasure. Jim reached his hand down between them and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s dick before he started to stroke rhythmically along with Sherlock’s thrust of fingers. Sherlock lowered his head reaching down to kiss along Jim’s exposed neck, trying to muffle his own moans, much to Jim’s displeasure. When Jim felt the quiet hum of pleasure muffled against his own skin he quickly flipped them over again. Jim didn’t distress in the sudden absence of Sherlock’s fingers inside him for long. He slid down Sherlock’s body until his mouth hovered over the other man’s erection. Sherlock looked down to his bed partner, his heart rate increasing when Jim smirked at him just before his mouth slid down over his dick slowly. 

Sherlock gripped onto the bed sheets beneath him when Jim’s lips circled around the head of dick. Jim’s mouth did not lower, teasing just at the tip agonizingly. Sherlock, despite himself whined at the overwhelming pleasure. Jim’s right hand gripped tightly onto Sherlock’s hip as his left slid back around to open himself further. Sherlock noticed the movement and moaned louder. Sherlock watched as the criminal’s face contorted with his pleasure as he continued to suck on the detective’s dick. Sherlock remembered his own words and began to speak softly.

“Westwood should pay you to wear their suits…” Sherlock spoke the words slowly the deepness of his voice caressing the criminal like lovers reunited after years of absence. Jim’s eyes rolled but still he moaned, lifting his mouth from the detective.

“Don’t stop talking.” Jim groaned, removing his own fingers from inside himself and sitting back into Sherlock’s lap. Sherlock found it harder to concentrate with the criminal starting to angle his hips above him. 

“I don’t know what to say.” Sherlock confessed, his head feeling light when Jim began to slowly ease down onto him. Jim’s breath caught when Sherlock was fully inside of him, sitting still on top of the detective as he grew accustomed to the length within him. Jim remained still and unmoving for another moment when Sherlock thought of something to say. “When we two parted…” Sherlock began the poem, not entirely sure of why he had it memorized in the first place. Jim moaned loudly at the words, his hips beginning to start a steady roll. “In silence and tears, half broken hearted…” Sherlock struggled against the words as he started to move his own hips, pushing himself up into the criminal. Sherlock’s hands traced lightly over Jim’s thighs as the smaller man rode out his pleasure. “To sever for years, pale grew thy cheek and cold colder thy kiss.” Sherlock gripped onto Jim’s back as he sat up, connecting their lips briefly, as long as their shortness of breath could allow. Jim leaned his head down then, biting onto Sherlock’s neck the feeling of Sherlock sliding into him rapidly bringing him closer to rapture. “Truly that hour foretold sorrow to this.” Sherlock continued, now pushing Jim onto his back and taking Jim’s hands into his own, their fingers clasping together as Sherlock pinned them onto the bed on either side of Jim’s head. Sherlock pushed himself back into the heat of the criminal below him, a moan followed by the next lines slipping from him like the sweat building on his skin. “The dew of the morning sunk chill on my brow…” Sherlock struggled against the words when Jim gasped, his eyes shutting tightly as he rolled their bodies together. “It felt like the warning of what I feel now.” Jim pressed their lips together once more, freeing one of his hands from Sherlock’s grasp to stroke at his own erection. “Thy vows are all broken, and light is thy frame.” Sherlock moved his free hand under Jim’s back lifting the smaller man up closer, their chest sliding together as Sherlock thrust deeper. 

“Sherlock…” Jim rasped, his teeth once again sinking into Sherlock’s skin as he began to feel his climax edging closer. 

“I hear thy name spoken and share in it’s shame.” Sherlock’s voice cracked when Jim bit down, a heavy moan following the line from the poem. Jim in response moved their positions once again. He entwined their fingers, mirroring their earlier position, and placing their joint hands beside Sherlock’s head as he began to once again ride atop the detective. “They name thee before me, a knell to mine ear.” Sherlock spoke, finding it increasingly difficult to remember the words as Jim bounced on top of him. Their bodies connected at all times, as Jim’s head rolled back in pleasure. “Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell…” Sherlock’s hands clutched onto Jim’s thighs as he thrust up into him. Jim loudly moaned, looking down to Sherlock as he spoke the words, his erection throbbing with pleasure as he slid down onto Sherlock one final time. They came simultaneously. Jim collapsed onto Sherlock’s chest as he bit down on his own lip, feeling Sherlock’s release spilling into him. Sherlock released their hands, his arms coming up to circle around Jim as they both took a moment to catch their breaths. Jim avoided the mess he had made over Sherlock’s chest as he held the detective close.

A few silent moments filled only with slow lingering kisses passed before they both moved to the bathroom to clean the mess they had made of each other. The silence remained as they laid back down in Sherlock’s bed, bodies closely entwined and eyes carefully watching the other. It was nearly an hour after they had settled back into the bed when Sherlock’s eyes closed for the night. Jim waited another wordless hour before he leaned forward, whispering the final lines to his lover. 

“In secret we met, In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? With silence and tears.” Softly James placed a kiss to the pliant lips of the detective beside him. When he decided he could never leave satisfied he conceded and got up from the bed. He collected his clothes and other belongings before walking out the door that had remained a haunting presence throughout the night.


End file.
